The Forgotten Ones: ACT I
by ShadowedLight
Summary: Coauthored fic by ShadowedLight and Eternity And A Half! A tale of the Old Gods long forgotten beneath the earth. ACT I is concluded! Look for ACT II coming soon!
1. A Legacy of Darkness

Authors' Notes:

This is a co-authored fanfiction by Shadowed Light and Eternity and a Half. Shadowed Light is the author of the Link in Azeroth crossover fic, as well as the Tears of the Legion fanfic. Eternity And A Half is the author of many fanfics, none of them finished. His current projects are Danse Macabre, Eversong, and Warcraft: What If? 

ShadowedLight: *taps microphone* Hey, is this thing working? *nasty microphone sound* Gah! Okay I guess it is. *ahem* Hi! I really hope you guys enjoy this, cause we spent like...hours thinking this up. Anyways, I'm very happy to be working with Eternity And A Half (great author, really!) Together we've got sooo many fics to juggle...so some chapters may be written by only one of us. I think we'll try to both work on most chapters though. 

Eternity And A Half: * takes microphone* Thanks, ShadowedLight. As was said before, we spent hours and hours honing this theory down to the fine product that we hope to present you with. Unfortunately, both of us are sick, so this fic may not get up to speed for a while. Anyways, we think this can be a truly superb story. Now, without any further ado, ShadowedLight and Eternity And A Half present you with "The Forgotten Ones"...

_Inspired by the Forgotten Ones and the tale of the Old Gods, here is the story that spans the history of Azeroth_...__

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue: A Legacy of Darkness

In ages past, before Azeroth, before the Burning Legion, when the world itself was young, the Titans were the masters of the world. Sculpting the earth to their wishes, they created the forests, rivers, mountains, and finally the races of Azeroth. They made mistakes, to be sure, but they knew they had an eternity to correct them. They had also peace, for there was nothing so powerful as to be able to challenge the Titans...until the Old Gods. 

The Old Gods were powerful entities that reigned over the Elementals; beings of pure malice and hate. For thousands of years the Old Gods had drawn their power from the constant worship and adulation of their followers, and as their followers grew, so did the Old Gods grow more bloated with power. With their many numbers, this mighty engine of destruction was able to challenge the might of the Titans themselves, who had threatened the Old God's carefully built sanctum of chaos. What followed was a great war between the first great powers of the Multiverse. In the end, the Old Gods were defeated, their Elemental servitors banished, and the Titans, in their victory, chained the Old Gods beneath the cold earth.

For many millennia the Old Gods remained. Isolated from their followers, their powers waned during their long imprisonment. And so they were left to watch the conflicts of the lesser races that came and went throughout history in contempt. As the millennia passed, the Old Gods banished beneath the earth, and slowly slipped out of all memory and legend. Soon, they were forgotten there, forgotten by all the world. Still they longed to escape the confines of their prison, and created a race of mindless servitors, the Faceless Ones in an attempt to reach the outside. Try as their creatures might, they could not free their masters, and so it was that the ancient evils remained banished.

But then one day a race of spiders delved deep beneath the earth. They forged a mighty kingdom that they stylized Azjol-Nerub. The Old Gods desperately tried to reach out to these creatures, but the Nerubians, sensing their sinister nature, stayed away in fear. The Old Gods became feared demons of Nerubian legend, known only as the Forgotten Ones. And so the forgotten gods did not even care when the Nerubians were nearly wiped out by a new power that new nothing of the evils sealed beneath the crypts of Azjol-Nerub. 

The Forgotten Ones were left again to wait for a chance to escape their long imprisonment, and one day, unexpectedly, it came. Racing to reach his master, a Death Knight that named Arthas ventured into the kingdom of Azjol-Nerub. Finding his choices limited, he decided to enter the crypts where it was known that more sinister things than spiders dwelled. He encountered and slew a number of Faceless Ones, though not without difficulty, for many of his own followers were slain as well. As the Death Knight raced through the halls, escape in sight, he encountered one of the Forgotten Ones, an Old God. Even with its powers greatly diminished, the Old God was not easily defeated. In the end however, the Death Knight, not knowing the consequences of his actions, slew the Forgotten One and fled.

His actions had grave consequences indeed; the crypts began to collapse. Eager to escape, the Death Knight and his followers fled, but as always, the Old Gods remained. They watched, overjoyed, as the caverns collapsed and a new passage was formed. It was not large, but it was big enough to serve the Old Gods' purposes. Their servants, the Faceless, spilled through the passage, and prepared for their master's arrival...

For the Old Gods would rise again.


	2. The Darkness Emerges

Authors' Notes: 

ShadowedLight: Hi! Here's chapter 1. Whew! That took a lot of time and effort, didn't it? Anyhow, to our first reviewer, Queen of the Harpies, we're very pleased that you enjoyed it! We didn't invent the Titans and Old Gods though; Eternity found their story in the WC3 manual...though we were the only ones with the genius to connect them to the Forgotten Ones. As for who wrote it, it was, like this chapter, a collaborative effort...but I was the one who wrote your favorite quote (glad you liked) ^_^ Wanna say add anything Eternity?

Eternity And A Half:  Sure! Thanks to all our...*crickets chirp*...well, our ONE reviewer. Thanks, Queen of the Harpies! You rock! Now please, people, if you could find it in your hearts to r/r... please do so. I'd really like to know what you guys think of our story. Well, in any case, that's my schpiel. Hope I didn't take up too much of your time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter I: The Darkness Emerges 

For too long we have been ignored.

The lesser races tread over our tombs as though they were no more than mere snow. The wretched Titans have made us nothing. Nothing! We are not even a shadow of a memory upon the mind of the oldest Kaldorei. Our powers gone, our forms long chained...for millennia, we have been little more than rocks with servants.

Ahh, the Faceless Ones. We Gods of Old combined what remained of our once mighty power to create them, thinking perhaps, just perhaps, they could return our powers to us. But no, we have made a mistake there; the Faceless Ones serve us mindlessly. Thusly, we could _make_ them worship, certainly. A God is nothing without followers, yes? Therein lies the flaw. The worship of a God is nothing unless it is done willingly. As the Faceless Ones had no choice in the matter, their worship did no more than ordering them to eat the walls of our prison might have. We could create limitless numbers of the Faceless, as we have, but they could do nothing to free us.

Then, the problem of our escape was solved simply: The human opened a clear passage for us by trundling clumsily through the paths that none had dared tread for epochs. Due to the commotion created by the careless movement of so many troops deep beneath the earth, and agitation caused by the Faceless, a new gap opened above our heads. For the first time in aeons, the light of the sun, however pale, shone upon the Old Gods. 

One of our number, the God of Darkness, Akananton, ordered his Faceless to move him despite our cautions that it was not wise to venture out while danger roamed the halls of our prison. We were correct- Akananton met the human and his forces away from the safety and protection of his fellows. Though he fought valiantly, Akananton perished, and our power was weakened still further. To our great relief, however, the human decided not to delve any further below the surface in his rush to join his master.

We had watched this being the human owed allegiance to, a self-styled god. His power was but a tithe of what ours had been at our height. But in our weakened, near-catatonic state, we had no hope of overthrowing this being from inside our prison deep inside the earth. He holds this place that we have been bound below in an iron grip. Now nearly a month since the opportunity for freedom was presented to us, we are ready. Our hordes of Faceless have grown beyond the point of millions, all amassed and awaiting our word to strike at this so-called "God". We know, through careful observation, that his forces are scattered, conquering other parts of this world that we once called our own. He has only a meager guard positioned around his glacial fortress. He will not expect an attack from within his very stronghold of power. Our victory, in that aspect, is assured.

But what will we do once we have dethroned this Lord of the North? Of course, our ambition is great: to retake the world the Titans stole from us all that time ago. But, as was said before, a God is nothing without followers. With the Elementals long since banished, far from our reach, we have no source of power. We must find another race to fuel us. Only then will our great prize be within our reach. 

But what race could serve our needs? Azrael, the God of Mind, has searched this world to find any susceptible to our...persuasions. None of the major races of this world are likely candidates. The Kaldorei are still caught up in their foolish worship of the Moon Goddess, Elune. The Quel'Dorei, the High Elven Rebels, have either turned to the Light along with the humans, or taken the darker path of worshipping Demons. The rogue sect of Undead, who stylized themselves the Forsaken, care nothing for worship. They have long since lost their faith in any sort of higher power. The Orcs, interlopers from another world, had turned to the way of the Shaman, worshipping the elements, and their Tauren allies are fixated on their Earth Mother. 

So who was left? None of the major powers were apt for our takeover. It became evident that we would have to rebuild our power slowly, by making the great races, one by one, bow down to worship us. But we had to start somewhere. So where would we plant the seeds of our rebirth? Why, the ones who know us already, of course. The Nerubians. Though their numbers were thinned by the Undead's great purges, they still fight a secret, desperate war against the powers of the North. We know that, in their zeal, they would do anything to reclaim their homeland. And so, when we take this place from the Scourge, we can finally give them that, in return for one thing: their acceptance of us as their gods. With our powers fueled, we can begin the takeover- no, the reclamation- of this plane as our own.

But every great war has to have a first battle. And so, our war would start this day, at the foot of the glacier the mortals called Icecrown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ner'Zhul breathed deeply the frigid air of Northrend. The simple concept of having to breathe was still something he had to remind himself of occasionally. Still, the old warlock marveled at the subtle rising and falling of his body's chest as blood flowed through his black heart, delivering precious oxygen to his calculating, malicious mind. It had been more than a month since the fusion of the Orc's spirit and the human's body, but still Ner'Zhul relished every second of being so _alive_, so vibrant, even youthful! Even the ability to move his eyes was like a great blessing. And move those eyes he did, scanning the territory that belonged to him alone, the sole lord of the north. 

"Master, I am sorry to disturb your meditations," a rasping voice said from behind him, "But the guards at the gates to Azjol-Nerub are reporting a…peculiarity." 

The God of Icecrown turned around to see a man clad in black robes behind him—a necromancer. There was a nervous fire alight in his eyes, and Ner'Zhul was shocked to see the dark wizard's skin so pale he almost couldn't tell the difference between it and the snow.

"What sort of… peculiarity?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Narath Aracanis stood atop the ziggurat and shivered. His still human body had never quite gotten used to the piercing Northrend cold, and spending long hours watching the gates of some long-forgotten kingdom of insects had a way of getting to you. All around him he could see the sizeable force at his command; four thousand ghouls, two thousand crypt fiends, and fifty necromancers to oversee them all. Apparently the Lich King still felt that these spiders posed some sort of a threat, but after months of watching and waiting, Narath had become convinced that the Nerubians wouldn't dare come within a hundred miles of the Scourge.

The necromancer yawned. From what he had heard of the Nerubians, they had once been the Lich King's greatest foe. But that had been a long time ago; the only Nerubians Narath had ever seen were the lumbering crypt fiends, aside from the one time he had the honor of meeting Anub'Arak himself. He had been impressed with the Crypt Lord's overbearing sense of power, and had of course heard the tales of his deeds, both before and after entering servitude to the Lich King. But the Nerubians possessed no such warriors these days, and those few that remained had remained only to perish slowly, imprisoned in their own kingdom.  

Suddenly Narath heard a commotion from below. Quick snapping out of his bored stupor, he stared down at the gates. Narath couldn't believe what he saw; a mass of Nerubians were charging forth, attacking the undead furiously. His forces, caught completely by surprise, was slow to react, but even so Narath knew that the Nerubians were doomed. He had counted maybe five hundred Nerubians in the attack, and already his three thousand ghouls were rushing to meet them. Watching expectantly, Narath grinned...but then noticed that something was horribly wrong.

The Nerubians were supposed to be tired, making a last desperate bid for freedom. Instead they were fighting ferociously, tearing into the ranks of undead with frightening speed. What's more, it seemed that every time a ghoul hacked at a Nerubian, some inexplicable force repelled it. But now the crypt fiends were closing in, and Narath saw to his relief that the Nerubians had paused; they always seemed reluctant to fight their own kindred, a weakness eagerly exploited by the Lich King. But just as suddenly as they paused, the few hundred Nerubians resumed their attack, and pressed forward as if driven by a mind other than their own. Just as Narath was dwelling on the impossibility of it all, more shadows emerged from the gates. A lot more.

_By Ner'Zhul_, Narath thought, _what are they_?

Thousands of slimy, almost featureless creatures with the same tentacled face were pouring from out from the depths. Turning to meet this new foe, the ranks of undead shrieked their challenge. The strange creatures neglected to reply, and calmly, almost mindlessly strode towards the undead, maces and clubs raised. The Scourge charged towards the creatures, fiercely cutting through them. But it was a useless gesture, for even as Narath watched, more and more Faceless emerged from Ajol-Nerub. Two Faceless fell for each undead soldier, but still the swarm pushed harder, and the undead fell faster.

Narath had been watching this atop the ziggurat in a daze. Those nightmares pouring from the gates; those nearly invincible Nerubians, it was all impossible! It couldn't be happening! But as the Faceless and the Nerubians began to flank his troops, the dreamlike quality fell from Narath's mind and a horrible sinking sensation replaced it. Even as the last of the ghouls and crypt fiends were trodden underfoot by the swarm of enemies, and his few remaining necromancers fled in terror, more Faceless were emerging. Where could such a force have come from?

_Oh no!_ Narath realized in a panic, _With__ a force this size...__they could besiege and maybe even take Icecrown itself! Ner'Zhul!_

Narath had served the Lich King willingly and well, and so, unlike the vast majority of his troops, the voice of his master merely whispered in his head, giving him occasional commands that he always executed competently. He was usually free to do as he wished, as long as it did not contradict the Lich King's will. Rarely had he appreciated it more, for he was not forced to fight the Faceless, he was not chained to the battlefield, and he would not have to die here today.

The necromancer turned and ran down the steps of the ziggurat three at a time. He would have to warn the Lich King, nothing else mattered now. The battle was already lost, and the surrounding landscape was filling ever more with the Faceless. A hundred thousand. Two hundred. Three hundred. A million...Narath shivered again, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ra'Anum shuffled along the dark corridors of Ajol-Nerub. The armor plates of his painted exoskeleton clinked against each other as he walked, barely noticing anything but the dull sound that echoed throughout the passage. Ra'Anum had taken some time to become accustomed to that hollow, empty echo, for in the old days, before the accursed Lich King, the halls through which he now tread would have been bustling with hundreds of Nerubians. All that remained now was a thin husk, a dim echo really, of the former glory of Ajol-Nerub. Ra'Anum had once been the high seer to the king. Now he was the highest ranking Nerubian left. Exhausted, demoralized, and few in number, his followers were all but ready to give up the fight that they had long continued after Anub'Arak betrayed the kingdom, and Ajol-Nerub began to fall.

But then, almost miraculously, a new chance for salvation had come to the surviving Nerubians. The Forgotten Ones, the beings that Ra'Anum would have mentioned with great fear and suspicion only a month ago, had ventured forth from the confines of the dark crypts beneath Ajol-Nerub. Those that the Nerubians had once listed as devils spoke to Ra'Anum, albeit through their mindless servants, the Faceless. The Nerubian seer had little affection for the slimy Faceless or their dreaded masters, but the Forgotten Ones had offered him a deal that the seer could not refuse; all of Northrend, if only the Nerubians would bow down and worship them. At the time, cold, hungry, and at the height of desperation, there had appeared to be only one choice to Ra'Anum. 

The seer had spread the new faith among his people. At the promise of an end to their plight and vengeance against the Lich King, the tired Nerubians agreed. Even those who, a decade ago, would have fought vehemently against such action, had seen such bleak times that they too fell in line with this new method of worship. Ra'Anum had felt no guilt about what he was doing, as he had thought it to be his people's last chance for survival. 

Indeed his hope was not cheated, for as Nerubians poured forth the power of their faith, they felt immediately the rewards from their new gods. Their frail bodies, mostly those of the very young and very old, had been revitalized, their minds reenergized, and a vigor unlike anything they had felt before coursed through them. His people, along with the Faceless, had easily crushed the Lich King's forces at the gates of Ajol-Nerub, and were ready to march towards Icecrown itself. For the first time in many years, Ra'Anum's people felt hope.

But Ra'Anum did not. Instead, his mind was heavy with doubt, for he may have saved his people, but had he damned them as well? Now that he thought about it, to worship the horrible Forgotten Ones was a thought that should have never even crossed his mind. Who knows what the Old Gods, as they called themselves, would have in store for his people after they had served their purpose? The desperation of the moment must have clouded his judgment...or perhaps the Old Gods themselves had done so?

Ra'Anum shook his head. It was too late; the deed was done. His people were already worshipping these Old Gods, and to turn them back after being responsible for their conversion in the first place would be to show the greatest weakness. No, there was only one thing to do; to press on ahead down the path they had already chosen. Where that path would lead was something else altogether. Had the choice to go down that path been his alone, Ra'Anum would have unflinchingly accepted the consequences. But if the choice was forced upon him and his people paid the price, then Ra'Anum swore that those responsible would pay, god or no god. Until that time came however, he would help them as best he could.

Ra'Anum exited the dark passageway, and blinked his many eyes as the pale Northrend sun filled them with its glare. Looking around, he could see that his people, all of them that could fight, had finished assembling. There were maybe two thousand Nerubians altogether, a meager number that spoke volumes of their race's tragic history. But in their eyes was a grim determination, derived from years of hardship, as well as a fiery vigor derived from worship to the Old Gods. As Ra'Anum looked about, any doubts he might have had of his people's worth in battle fell away.

Still, a mere two thousand Nerubians would never have been enough to challenge the Lich King, no matter how determined or vigorous they might have been, for even with his armies scatter throughout the world, the Lich King had still perhaps a hundred thousand undead warriors at his immediate beck and call. But numbers, Ra'Anum knew, would no longer be a problem. Looking beyond the cluster of his people, the world suddenly turned into one slimy, seething mass of Faceless. Each one mindlessly carrying out the will of their master, they were a fearsome group to behold. Such an awe inspiring and eerie a sight Ra'Anum had never seen in all his long years, for each Faceless looked nearly exactly like the one next to it. Though some were of slightly different size, and not all carried the same type of crude mace that they had been armed with, they lived up to their name; each and every one of them had the exact same face. The Faceless may not be as agile, nor as powerful in combat against the undead, but their sheer numbers, the advantage that had long been held by the Lich King, made victory seem nearly inevitable.

As the mass of Faceless began a solemn but steady march towards Icecrown glacier, Ra'Anum cleared his throat and called to his people in his deep, raspy voice.

"My people, our time has come at last! Today, the hated Lich King and the traitors to our kingdom will fall!"

It was short and simple, but it was just what the Nerubians needed to hear. A great rustling and clicking filled the air in what amounted to the Nerubian equivalent of applause. As the Nerubian army began marching with the Faceless towards Icecrown, Ra'Anum silently hoped that they weren't all marching with their doom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We watched the battle from inside our prison. The Nerubian seer, Ra'Anum, had provided us with a massive, crystal orb that showed it to us from a hawk's eye view. And so we, the Old Gods, watched our troops head to war for the first time since the days of the Titans. 

Our battle plan was simple, yet eloquent. The main brunt of our army would engage the main forces of the Undead while our Nerubian allies—no, worshippers—moved towards the presumed location of their master, atop the glacier, in a surgical strike. Our Faceless would be among both groups, though their purpose in the second was mainly to protect the spiders should the "lord of the north" have the brains to keep a cadre of guards with him. The Nerubians, with good fortune, would drive him down off of the mountain and into the waiting clubs of our Faceless. As the Nerubian Seer would be overseeing the second operation himself, we deigned it necessary only to watch our troops. 

The Faceless Ones advanced in uniform waves that broke over the defenses the Undead had constructed just outside the gate of Azjol-Nerub. Most races of this world would have fled upon sight of a force numbering in the millions, but the Undead, having no will of their own, could only stand and fight mindlessly until their rotted organs and atrophied muscles were torn from their bodies. A few humans, necromancers, we surmised, escaped due to the fact that their minds were not dominated by their lord. This was part of our plan; they must warn their king, so that he would order his defenders to engage our forces. 

While our forces marched towards the glacier proper, we all sat in silence, incapable of doing much more. Occasionally idle, psychic chattering could be heard in short blasts, but the repressive atmosphere of our prison soon smothered it.

Eventually, the raging horde of Faceless came to stand at the foot of the mountain, staring up at its crest where the sun shone through a block of ice that sparkled like polished sapphire. In the background we saw the Nerubian force slink away, almost unnoticeable against the seething sea of Faceless. 

Just as the last vestiges of the secondary force disappeared from view, there was a thunderous cry as an avalanche of Undead came rushing down the mountain; they scrambled over one another, each one trying to get ahead of the others in murderous desire to protect their master. The Faceless stood in stony silence, shoulder to shoulder, unflinching against the tide of horrors that was tumbling toward them. We had given our servants enough brainpower to fight, and to serve our whims, and nothing more. As such, they were incapable of the weak, useless emotion called "fear". As one, our warriors raised their clubs, just as the line of Undead came within reach. There was a massive, sickening crack as the front lines collided, the claws of the Ghouls rending the flesh of the Faceless while at the same time having their heads split open by the rain of clubs that fell upon them.

Within minutes the Undead forces were diminishing considerably; however, they had cut a small swathe through our forces. Luckily, this small corridor of empty, white snow did not reach even one tenth of the way through our total army. The Faceless were closing ranks, forcing the zombies back into the shadow of the mountain. The hisses and clicks that emanated from around me told of the other Gods' approval. 

The Undead seemed to have a sudden stroke of brilliance, however; the Ghouls formed an elaborate circle around the skeleton archers, protecting them while a flurry of arrows came from within. Using this formation, the army began to hold until eventually our advance was stopped. It was imperative that their army be kept were they were, and so wave after wave of Faceless went to meet the arrows of the undead. Try as they might, the Faceless could not breach their bastion, nor, if everything went planned, would they need to.

Now, the rest of the battle would depend on our Nerubian servitors.


	3. A Symphony of Darkness

Chapter II: A Symphony of Darkness

As Narath stood outside the doors of the Lich King's throne room, he could hear the sounds of carnage issuing forth from below the glacier. He began to stir uncomfortably; he knew that the Faceless below did not speak, but the lack of screams on the enemy's part was unnerving, especially since the undead death cries were so piercing. More screams came from below, along with a number of sickening crunches. Thoroughly shaken, Narath moved to look out a window, and couldn't help but gasp even though he knew that his master would hear him.

The writhing mass of Faceless was now advancing in waves, marching towards the glacier. All that remained of the Lich King's melee force was desperately fending them off, trying to protect the cluster of skeleton archers that continued to pour a steady stream of death onto the Faceless. As Narath watched, a few hundred crypt fiends rushed to reinforce the archers, but the necromancer knew that they served only as a buffer, for one by one the melee defenders were falling. Even as he looked however, he felt that there was something wrong with the picture. Brushing the feeling off, Narath pondered how this could have happened.

Narath just didn't understand it; in all of the long years he had served the Lich King, he had never seen his master caught off guard like so. This new enemy, the slimy creatures that fought below to reach his master had appeared from nowhere, with no warning. From the chamber behind him, Narath could feel the Lich King frantically sending his psychic commands to his troops all over Northrend, and felt oddly left out. For months he had guarded the gates of Azjol-Nerub, he had been the first to fight the creatures and the Nerubians...wait a minute, _the Nerubians!_

Narath hurriedly looked out the window and scanned the battlefield again. In all the seething mass of Faceless that kept coming and kept dying, he could not see the longtime enemies of the Scourge. A heavy weight grew in his stomach. How could his master, or himself for that matter, have noticed that the Nerubians were missing? Their hatred for the Scourge and their newfound supernatural strength should have made them more than eager to fight on the front lines, yet...

More and more waves of Faceless advanced up the glacier. More and more troops were drawn away from the Lich King's guards. Bit by bit his master was becoming completely unprotected. Suddenly it became painfully clear to Narath. Spinning around and rushing out the door of the Lich King's "palace", he ran out to where the remaining guards, mostly crypt fiends led by Anub'Arak himself, were watching the battle from afar with growing apprehension. Hearing the sudden sloshing footsteps behind them, they spun around, claws upraised.

Ignoring the suspicious glares of the former Nerubians, Narath spoke hastily, knowing that every second could mean the life or death of his master. 

"Anub'Arak! The Nerubians are going _around the glacier! Those creatures down there are meant to draw off our forces! They plan to ambush our king!"_

The massive crypt lord silently glared at the necromancer, shaken by the idea and yet still not trusting the lower ranking spellcaster. It wasn't difficult to imagine the fallen Nerubian as a ruler of some great kingdom, and at any other time Narath would have quailed under that searing gaze. But not today. 

"Lord, what I say is true. I have not seen them with my own eyes, but you must have realized by now that the Nerubians are not fighting below the glacier. You lord, of all the Lich King's soldiers, should know that they would not hesitate to attack us along with those mindless creatures. Where else could they be? Believe me, if we do not act quickly then all will be lost!"

Anub'Arak stared at Narath for another moment, then, seeing no deception in the necromancer's eyes nodded and acted swiftly. Turning around to his remaining guard; two thousand crypt fiends and a thousand ghouls, he cried out in his indescribably deep and raspy voice. 

"Come! The Frozen Throne is in peril! Come in Ner'Zhul's name!"

Without hesitation the crypt lord's mindless servants turned and followed as Anub'Arak spun around and dashed for the back of the glacier as fast as his long, spindly legs could carry him. Narath followed as well, wondering at what had changed in a few short hours. Before he had been bored, never imagining any threat to his master...and now here he was marching to war against a seemingly infinite foe. Again he wondered how this could have happened, and wondered if it were a dream. Then, scolding himself, he gritted his teeth and quickened his pace. He would do what he could, no matter how little that may be. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malgeron raced through the great dragonblight. All around him, the fossilized remains of his ancestors lay, their great mass often jutting out of the ground, offering him and his kindred an obstacle both unnerving and inconvenient. He was the oldest of his tribe, of the dragonspawn of Northrend. He was old enough to have heard the ancient edict of his god, Malygos, repeated. Guard the remains of your ancestors, and guard the tomb of the Forgotten Ones.

Malgeron hissed. He had failed his god once when the Scourge claimed the larger part of the dragonblight as theirs. He had continued to wage a guerilla war against the undead, but had never even managed to draw the Lich King's attention. This had made him all the more determined to make sure that no one entered the crypts where the Forgotten Ones were sealed; every moment of the day the entrance to the depths was guarded by blue dragonspawn. For many years none but the Nerubians had ever showed a desire to pass...until the Death Knight. He had slain the dragonspawn guards, and freed what Malgeron had sworn to protect.

He had failed his god, but Malygos would have to know of it. And so Malgeron and his kindred raced through the small piece of dragonblight that remained untouched by the Scourge's taint, trying to reach the temple where Malygos would always hear his people. Occasionally glancing side to side to see the shadows of his kindred rushing through the forest of skeletons, Malgeron paid little heed to anything else. Even when the great cloud of frost wyrms rose in the distance and flew towards the glacier of Icecrown, where unbeknownst to Malgeron, the Lich King was engaged in a desperate fight against those that the dragonspawn had guarded for nearly a millennia.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things were not looking good.

As Ner'Zhul brooded in his throne room, he could not help but feel the bite of fear. From atop Icecrown, he watched the battle below with a sinking in his heart and desperation in his mind. The foes that were rapidly closing ranks were now killing his guards with impunity; it seemed almost as though they were toying with him, waiting to see if they could break him without ever advancing up the glacier.

Casting a rogue glance away from the battle, Ner'Zhul studied the gates of Azjol-Nerub. Still streams of the faceless creatures were ascending from the subterranean kingdom, covering the ground so much that there was more purple of their skin than white of the snow. Arthas' chest rose and fell quickly, and despite the Northrendian cold, droplets of sweat trickled down his brow.  The wind tossed his long, white hair about and whispered in his ears.

_Doom, doom, doom,_ they said. _Doom, doom, doom._

Finally the Lich King couldn't take it any more; he had to get away from the winds! He had to get away. Had to.

Striding over to the Throne, almost shuffling with abject fright, Ner'Zhul picked up Frostmourne with a trembling hand. He left the Chamber with the wind still speaking to him.

**_Doom, doom, doom._****__**

Scrambling down the carved ice stairs two at a time, Ner'Zhul's boots slipped and he fell face down into the snow that covered the floors of his fortress. All dignity forgotten, he stumbled to his feet and half-ran, half-walked down the spiral, passing windows that allowed the wind in despite the fact that it had been coming from the opposite direction while he was in the Chamber.

**_Doom, doom, doom! _**They chanted ever louder. **_Doom, doom, doom!_**

Now there was only one thought left in Ner'Zhul's head: _run. And so he did, his heart pounding, ears filled with the horrible song of the wind. He ran with terror, with blind panic. For the first time, the Lich King was afraid. His feet began to ache as he thundered down the passage. Somewhere in the back of his fevered mind Ner'Zhul noticed that the windows had disappeared, but the wind spoke louder than ever._

**_DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!_**

Suddenly a light appeared at the end of the passage—the exit to a small, elevated platform about midway up the glacier. Pouring all his considerable strength into his legs, the Lich King pumped his muscles, moving three feet at a time with each step. He exploded out into the dazzling, wintry sunlight, skidding to a halt on the semi-melted slush of the platform. Before his eyes adjusted, Ner'Zhul heard a soft, hissing voice.

"Why, hello."

**DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clicks and hisses of the other Old Gods grew steadily louder. We watched as the Undead fell back even further, falling into the shadow of Icecrown. The ghouls formed a crude semicircle around the base, while the skeleton archers still remained behind. Their quivers were emptying with surprising speed, but every arrow killed another of our Faceless. No matter. We had more than twice the number of troops that was at the foot of the glacier still tucked away beneath the snowy ground.

Finally there was a crack and an anguished yell that was almost lost in the sounds of battle. The line of ghouls had been broken and the Faceless streamed through the gap without hesitation. The archers had finally exhausted their supply of arrows and beat uselessly with frail fists as our troops struck them down. After the archers were gone there was a total rout; soon the bright blue decorations of Ner'Zhul's elite guard were enveloped in a tide of slimy, purple skin. The was a final snapping sound as a lone, bloodstained club rose into the air above the stillness of the battlefield. As one, the Faceless rose their maces into the air and shrieked. It was the first sound they had ever made, but there was no mistaking what it meant.

_Victory._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Temple of Malygos was a grandiose sight to behold, although Malgeron had seen it many times in his long life. It was massive, dominating the skyline above the dragonblight with its spires of ice. At its very top sat an incredibly intricate carving of a great blue wyrm, made from a block of sapphire so large it had taken the power of the Spellweaver himself to move it. The great center of worship for all dragons of the north had escaped defilement because, by some craft of the Spellweaver, it was visible only to the children of Malygos.

Malgeron's fellows finally rejoined him as he approached the grand stairway to the temple. The galloped at an incredibly fast pace, each of their four legs motoring as they approached the gateway to their god. Although the temple had been all but abandoned when the Scourge took over the majority of the dragonblight, it still remained pure and uncorrupted by the Lich King's taint. Finally rushing up the stairs and deep into the temple, they skittered to a halt on the polished granite floors.

Although none of the younger dragonspawn Malgeron had brought with him had ever been inside the temple of Malygos, they knew the way to his most sacred altar, situated below the massive sapphire dragon. They waited for Malgeron's command, but he simply waved one of his claws in a wordless order. The lesser dragonspawn advanced deeper into the temple, Malgeron following carefully a few feet behind them. 

They passed through the silent halls, long since vacated by the priests of the Spellweaver after the Scourge began their takeover. Although the temple grounds could not be entered by the Undead, the priests would have become cut off from the outside world without food, water, or any other supplies. Finding their choices limited, they had left and joined with the other dragonspawn near Azjol-Nerub. Malgeron would have liked to have a priest with him, but alas, they were all slain by the Death Knight.

Finally they came to the room below the great sapphire dragon, which was turned blue by the sunlight that poured in through the gemstone. At the rear of the cavernous room was an altar, covered by a cloth adorned with Malygos' symbols and runes. The lesser dragonspawn approached it and kneeled in a semicircle, their heads bowed. Malgeron walked to the center of the group, but remained standing. He closed his eyes and spoke out with his mind.

_Malygos, hear my plea._

Instantly the voice of their god filled the mind of all the dragonspawn. It spoke in careful tones, each word seeming the end result of a thousand years of thought.

**_Speak, my child._**

_My lord, we have failed. I _have failed. The Old Gods have been freed. What their plans are, we do not know, but it would be safe to assume that they are planning some sort of an offensive.__

There was a short silence, but then the Spellweaver intoned again.

We must rally all of my remaining children. Perhaps we can stop them before their plans are set into motion. Go to Sapphiron the Frost heart and—

My lord, Malgeron interrupted, his heart stopping as he realized just what he had done. However, the Spellweaver made no move to reprimand him.

My lord, he began again, Sapphiron the Frost Heart is dead. He was slain by one of the Lich King's minions and raised as one of the vile frost wyrms. His current whereabouts and condition are unknown.

Now there was a definite silence. The God of the Blue Dragons seemed to be thinking. Malgeron's heart skipped a beat. If Malygos did not know what to do, there was a very good reason to worry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ra'Anum and the other Nerubians skittered along through the snow silently. Save for the occasional cracking of ice meeting a Nerubian leg, the air was perfectly still. Behind them, a thousand Faceless trudged through the snow, making far more noise with their large feet and careless sloshing. They were not the most interesting of company, and so the Nerubians were left to their own thoughts, most of which were dark.

Ra'Anum remembered all too clearly the months after Anub'Arak's betrayal. Those were the darkest of times for all his people. The sheer number of Nerubians that had been slain had given the Lich King an army both powerful and terrible to behold, and Ra'Anum had recognized many in the ranks of the so-called crypt fiends. His people were reluctant to fight against those that they once knew as friends or even family, and the merciless Lich King made sure that they faced them as often as possible.

For nearly as long as Ra'Anum could remember, the Lich King was a formless horror, the horror that none of them had seen yet all feared. But Anub'Arak, he was different. He had fought valiantly against the Lich King, and later, for him. The former King of Azjol-Nerub had been known and loved by all his subjects, and his betrayal had crippled the kingdom. His name was now the harshest of curses in the Nerubian tongue, and it was polite to refer to him only as the "traitor king".

Suddenly, Ra'Anum's spiritual senses alerted him to something watching them. He gazed up at the top of the glacier, and hissed. There, staring down at the small force of Nerubians and Faceless, stood Anub'Arak himself. No words could describe what Ra'Anum felt then, for his devotion to his people was absolute, and he could not imagine ever turning them over to a life of undeath. He expected himself to scream, to roar out his hatred for the betrayer. But instead he calmly halted and turned to face Anub'Arak. His followers, seeing what he was doing, gazed up to the top of the glacier, and all froze in either hatred...or fear. They too remembered Anub'Arak's last visit to his old kingdom. Many of the precious few Nerubians that remained had fallen then...but it would not be so today.

"Is this rabble all that remains of the once-great Azjol-Nerub?" Anub'Arak said mockingly.

"This rabble is enough to put an end to you and your master, slave!" Ra'Anum spat.

Anub'Arak looked at Ra'Anum in surprise. "My old seer! So it is you that leads our people now? Do you imagine yourself great enough to be king of Azjol-Nerub then? Your ambitions have led you down a path you will never survive!"

"My ambitions go beyond that of greed Anub'Arak! These are not 'our' people traitor, they are their own. The trust they once invested in you and now invest in me is all the _greatness_ needed by a ruler."

Anub'Arak gazed at Ra'Anum in puzzlement. "You are willing to die for them then? So be it."

As the warriors on both sides tensed, Ra'Anum spared one last quip.

"You weren't willing to die for Azjol-Nerub, Anub'Arak. Are you willing to die for the Lich King?"

Anub'Arak roared, and as he did so, the swarm of crypt fiends and ghouls charged down the glacier. The Nerubians wasted no time in entering the fray, and from under their exoskeleton poured swarms of vile insects. The voracious creatures darted at the ghouls, chewing away at rotting flesh and bone. The crypt fiends returned the favor, and soon the air was buzzing with the stinging servants of the Nerubians, both live and dead. The Faceless, unable to feel pain, ignored the creatures boring into their flesh and charged at the line of crypt fiends, their clubs darting furiously amongst the spiders, soon becoming covered in green blood. 

Narath Arcanis, the sole human in the battle, stood outside the melee, sending bolts of crippling energy at the Nerubians. He occasionally paused to send a ghoul into a vicious frenzy by pouring his unholy energizes into it, but soon he was occupied by holding off the teeming faceless that was cutting through the ranks of the undead at a frightening speed. Cursing the situation, Narath began to concentrate, raising his staff and imbuing the bodies of the fallen with the magics that had taken him so long to master. Dead Nerubians rose as crypt fiends, and fallen ghouls fought again as skeletons.

At the same time, Anub'Arak opened his massive wings, and from them flew thousands of horrid locusts. These insects were of a more intelligent breed than those endowed to a normal Nerubian, and they flew back and forth, chewing holes into enemies and patching those in their master's shell. Then charging into battle, the massive crypt lord slashed left and right, severing the heads of his former subjects. 

Ra'Anum performed a quick incantation, and from the ground beneath Anub'Arak a swarm of small, hungry beetles burst in the search of flesh. They tore into the crypt lord's hide, and faster than the locusts could repair it, devoured the mummified flesh. Letting out a roar of rage, Anub'Arak lunged at Ra'Anum, and the warriors on both sides cleared a small space in the melee. Ordering his locusts to scour his hide for beetles, Anub'Arak then waved a claw at the corpse of a fallen Nerubian. From it burst a large carrion beetle, its formidable jaws snapping in Ra'Anum's direction. The Nerubian seer sent it flying with a blow from his powerful claw, made stronger still by the energies of the Forgotten Ones.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Anub'Arak charged at Ra'Anum with the full force of his body. Formidable spikes protruding from his carapace, and his bladed horn lowered, he was an awe-inspiring sight to behold. Ra'Anum, reacting quickly, muttered another incantation he had learned from years of delving into Nerubian magic. From the air in front of him burst a swarm of massive, flying insects. Moving too quickly to be seen properly, the carrion swarm darted right into Anub'Arak's face. Growling in surprise, the crypt lord halted his charge and swatted at the pests. 

In this moment, Ra'Anum struck. Swinging his claw with all of his might, the blow sent Anub'Arak sprawled on the ground in shock. No Nerubian save those of royal blood should have been able to deal such a blow to the massive crypt lord, but Ra'Anum felt the energies of his new gods pounding in his veins, lending him unnatural strength. As Anub'Arak struggled to get up, Ra'Anum walked over to him and raised a barbed leg that Nerubians used to pierce ice. What he was piercing now was a lot greater, and fell with a lot more noise.

Anub'Arak's dying cry was one of pure rage and hatred. At the sound, all of his crypt fiends shuddered, and soon fell to the clubs of the Faceless or the claws of the Nerubians. Ra'Anum stood there, foot still imbedded into the head of the creature that had haunted his people for so long. Then, suddenly realizing what he had done, he let out a roar of victory. The thousand Nerubians that remained hissed and clicked in victory, for not a single crypt fiend or ghoul remained. Ra'Anum withdrew his leg, and gazed up towards Icecrown, now completely undefended. 

And just then a bolt of energy narrowly missed his leg. Turning quickly to spot the source of the attack, his eyes settled on a lone figure at the top of the glacier. A necromancer. Ra'Anum was surprised; was it a trap? No, for even as he looked, the necromancer stared down defiantly at the crypt lord and sent another bolt of energy at him. Ra'Anum dodged the bolt with ease, and the mass of Nerubians around him charged at the single necromancer. 

Narath knew that all was lost, and that he would perhaps be dead by the day's end. But he knew that it was not over yet; he sent no more bolts down the glacier, and the Nerubians swarmed up it unimpeded. As soon as they were about ten yards away, and treading on the corpses of the fallen, Narath expended the last of his energy and chanted words that death itself would hear. He performed a spell that was forbidden to all the Lich King's servants but the Death Knights, one that he was not even supposed to know. But Narath had not been idle in the long hours in front of the gates of Azjol-Nerub, and he knew that in this hour of desperation, his life was forfeit, spell or no spell.

Suddenly the corpses of Nerubian, Faceless, and undead alike arose from their slumber. Heeding the word of death, they sprung up amidst the Nerubians, cutting them down as they ran. Confusion reigned, and as the Nerubians tried to fight back, they found that no matter what they did, death would not claim the fallen. Death itself had abandoned the warriors, and as the Nerubians fought, Narath ran, knowing that he had done all that he could do yet still feeling like a coward at having to abandon his master.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually the magics that the lone necromancer had imbued the corpses with dissipated, leaving them to fall to the ground in a jumble of flesh and mismatched bones. It was really quite clever, Ra'Anum thought to himself. Glancing above the glacier, he saw that the necromancer had gotten away in the chaos. Ra'Anum shook his head and turned back to more important business. 

With the power of the Old Gods coursing through his veins, Ra'Anum shouted the order back to his to continue the ascent. As they clicked and skittered over spiral platform running up the glacier's side, the Nerubians heard a massive, resounding hiss, presumably coming from the Faceless on the other side. Only then did the seer notice the sounds of battle had stopped completely, leaving an eerie silence to descend upon the frigid mount. 

Unhindered, the Nerubians were able to make remarkable speed towards the summit. The few Faceless guards that remained after the battle lagged behind, stumbling on brittle bones riddled with holes. The spiders cared nothing for the mindless creatures, and left them to fall behind.

Eventually the came to a massive platform at about the middle of the glacier, made from solid, black stone and covered in a thick blanket of snow. Looking around, Ra'Anum spotted a tunnel on the other end or the platform, leading into the mountain itself. He presumed that tunnel led to Ner'Zhul's throne room, but being unsure, he told his forces to halt. Listening intently, the seer heard something faint coming from the tunnel, but getting louder…

Abruptly, a figure shot from the tunnel at such high speeds that it wasn't immediately recognizable. Its gilded armor glittered in the sunlight, and there was the twinkle of polished metal at its side. When it finally came to a stop, the figure was revealed to be a young human with long, white hair that fluttered in the Northrend breeze. Ra'Anum recognized it as the Death Knight that had slain many of his fellows but a month ago. For being a great and terrible foe, he didn't look too threatening to Ra'Anum, kneeling in the snow and shielding his eyes from the Northrendian sun. 

"Why, Hello," the seer said in a soft, hissing voice. Ner'Zhul looked in his general direction, blinded by the brightness. Ra'Anum almost laughed at how pitiful the boy looked. Striding into his line of vision, the Seer looked down at the Lord of the North, blocking out the sun. Ner'Zhul's gaze changed from confused to accusatory. 

"You," He spat.

"Me," Ra'Anum replied calmly. A sneer curled across the boy's lips, and it wasn't until he was swinging the sword that the seer even realized he had one. The Old God's protective shell welled up around Ra'Anum and repelled the blow, sending the sword skittering out of Ner'Zhul's hands. It clattered some twenty feet away, near the edge of the platform. 

"For too long we Nerubians have suffered under you," Ra'Anum said softly, "Your rule has been tolerated long enough. Today, your reign ends. Today, the Scourge is crushed. This day, Northrend is OURS!" Raising a claw, the seer slammed a fist into the side of Ner'Zhul's face. He heard teeth breaking, and red blood sprayed from his mouth. The boy flew and slammed into the wall of the glacier, sending a spider web of cracks radiating out from the impact point. Tasting his own blood, Ner'Zhul roared and pulled magical energy to himself, but felt it grow slow and sluggish, until it eventually stopped before becoming anything. Ra'Anum chuckled.

"Your powers are useless," he said, striding up to where the boy lay slumped against the wall. "For the longest time I have been an insect among gods," the seer hissed, "But now, you, o Lich King, are a god among insects, and the insects are not pleased."

Ra'Anum came so close to Ner'Zhul's face that he could feel his frigid breath. He took either side of the boy's head in each of his claws and looked straight into the Lich King's soulless eyes. The seer's face broke into a malicious grin as Ner'Zhul threw a fist at him, which was tossed back by his shield. The Old Gods' powers slammed his hands back against the wall and shackled them with pure energy. Ra'Anum tightened his grip.

"Now," he whispered, "This insect is a god."

With a crack, Ra'Anum twisted his claws and snapped the boy's neck. The Nerubians, who had been silent, as though what had been occurring was a play, suddenly broke into their "applause", rustling and clicking. Arthas' mouth suddenly hung open, and a bright blue light escaped from it, his eyelids opened as well, spewing the same light. There was an unearthly shriek as steam erupted from his every pore, the skin melting off his body until there was nothing more than a skeleton. The blue light coagulated in a mass that hung in the air, but then streaked off across the sky, trailing smoke in its wake.

There was complete silence for a moment, as though the entire world were in a trance. Ra'Anum snapped from that trance first, and strode over to the edge of the platform where the boy's sword lay. Although Nerubians had never been particularly dexterous, the seer picked up the sword in his claws. Letting out a triumphant yell, he raised Frostmourne above his head. The Nerubians rustled, the Faceless shrieked, the Old Gods rejoiced, and the world languished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors' Notes:

ShadowedLight: Wow...we sure got a lot of reviews. *unfolds scroll* This is gonna take a while. *ahem*. 

demon_bright, Thank you very much, on behalf of us both! I wasn't aware that Link in Azeroth was so popular, and now that I've started accepting anonymous reviews, I would be very pleased if you offered your insight there.

Bunch of Short Reviewers, Um...I'm sorry but your reviews were too short for me to acknowledge, as we have so many to go through. Thank you for your opinions and try to write more next time.

Khellendros, Glad you're impressed! I think you'll enjoy this chapter. :D

Rowan Seven, Very detailed review, much appreciated! The revenant information was not known to us. We have in fact been searching for what happened to the elementals and came up with some results...but that was new! Thank you!

Kendrakthos, Just the person I wanted to speak to. Number one, we will NOT remove the reviews without a good reason. While we do not agree with all of them, nor do we think much of some of their intelligence, we firmly believe in free expression. Jasper and his comrades are should not publicly embarrass themselves as you see it, but we will not hinder them. Number two; I will NOT _PRINT OUT AND BURN_ any of my fanfics! If you do not think that Tears of the Legion has much potential, then you are welcome to get the hell away from it! And before you start assuming that your writing skills are "several orders of magnitude more advanced" than ANYONE'S, I would like to see some of _your_ work first!! Number three; your disagreements with people on several subjects did NOT warrant adjectives and harsh language employed by you! Listen to your own advice, you pompous hypocrite! IF YOU DON'T HAVE SOMETHING CONSTRUCTIVE TO SAY THEN DON'T SAY IT! Understand this; I despise _you and everything _you_ stand for!!_

Queen of the Harpies, Thank you as always for your intense reviews! Hope you forgive us for killing off the Lich King (please don't hurt us). Anyways, glad you liked Ra'Anum, and I'm sure Eternity is happy that you liked his quote. ^_^

randh13th, Thanks! You've happened to have touched on a plot line too. ;)

Darth, Uh, thanks?

Eternity And A Half: Um...wow. ShadowedLight covered pretty much everything... So here's a song! FEEEELLLLINGS...okay enough of that. I guess all that's left is to say thank you to all our reviewers, and please keep reading. It's good to know people like our story.


	4. Of Darkness and Dragons

Chapter III: Of Dragons and Darkness

Malygos pounded at the air with his massive wings. He wasn't inclined to fly often anymore these days; somehow he found that life underground was more...peaceful. He sighed. After Deathwing's disappearance, he had been hoping to get a century or so of rest, as did the other aspects. And so he had retreated to a dark, cool cavern where he could listen to the prayers of his children in peace. There, for maybe a decade he remained, cool water dripping from the stalactites onto his brow, then dropping to the floor to make a melodious, soothing noise that resounded throughout the cavern. 

Occasionally his children brought news of the world, and once the Dragonspawn of Northrend had given him tidings of this new horror known as the Lich King. The news was disturbing indeed to Malygos; the Lich King had defiled the great dragonblight, showing the ultimate disrespect to the Blue Dragonflight. But Malygos was not easily roused now in his old age, none of the Aspects save perhaps Alexstraza was. Evils, he decided, came and went. And so the god of the blue dragons had merely ordered his children to do what they could.

But then the Dragonspawn had contacted him again, and this time brought news more disturbing to the Malygos than news of Deathwing himself. The evils that had came ages ago and had not left with their time were stirring again in the crypts below Azjol-Nerub. 

The Forgotten Ones, the beings that Malygos among few creatures of the world knew as the Old Gods, had escaped. Freed by the foolishness of this Lich King. Malygos scowled; if he had not been so lazy perhaps it might have been avoided. But it was too late now; right now it was vital that the Old Gods be stopped before they spread from Northrend.

Malygos knew little of the Old Gods, save that they were an ancient evil whose powers were beyond comprehension of all creatures of Azeroth. He knew that they drew their powers from the devotion of their worshippers, and that obviously, as their presence spread so would their power. The Lich king had been one thing...but these horrors older than Malygos himself and with the potential to become tenfold as powerful, was something else. This he could not ignore.

And so, without even bothering to consult the other Aspects, Malygos again took to the skies for the first time since he fought Deathwing. Heeding the call of their god, hundreds of blue dragons of all ages flocked to the Spellweaver, and as their vast shadow passed over the cold oceans, Malygos only hoped that he would be in time to stop the Old Gods before they consumed the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Victory has sweeter taste than the finest delicacy.

Our only true opposition on Northrend was dead. Our Nerubian pawn, Ra'Anum, had proved himself to be a powerful and competent commander. About a third of the army that was launched against the Lich King was lost; all in all, about one million Faceless were killed. Minimal.

For the first time in so long, we Gods of Old were masters rather than prisoners. With the only serious threat to our power eliminated, there was no reason for us to remain festering in our tombs. Our Faceless, acting under our psychic commands, would move is into the heart of what used to be a symbol of opposition: we would now reside within the very heart of the Icecrown glacier. 

Still, we felt a lingering threat hanging over us. Zeraph, the god of sight, had visions of an airborne enemy approaching. Enormous scaled beasts that fly amongst the clouds and rain destruction upon their foes. We could not put a name to these creatures...until the Nerubians told our servants tales of great leviathans that cut through the air like water, each one with the power of two hundred Faceless. "Dragons", they called them. Tools of the Titans empowered to guard this world from danger–both internal and external.

And we were an internal danger.

The Nerubians feared the dragons, for many a reckless soldier had been lost to their crushing jaws and freezing breath over the years. We spoke of this to Ra'Anum the seer; there was no doubt in his mind that these Dragons _would_ make a move to stop us, even if it was with minimal forces. According to the Nerubian, the dragons were divided into smaller sects called "flights". Each flight was ruled by an incredibly powerful being, called an Aspect. The Aspect's powers bordered on godhood itself, the seer had said. The flight dominant in Northrend was the Blue; therefore, it was likely that their "god" would attempt an assault upon us, most probably when we were most vulnerable.

This worried us greatly; although our powers had grown stronger through Nerubian worship, we still did not, even among all of us, have enough to stop a being with such power, if what the seer said was true. Our Faceless, though more than a match for any ground-based threat, could do nothing to stop the winged creatures Ra'Anum had described. The Nerubians, due to their arachnid features, could ensnare flying beasts with their webs, but the spiders were both too few in number and too frail to be any sort of serious threat to the dragons. 

As the Faceless under my control began to pry me from the cold, metallic ground and prepared to begin their mindless trek towards Icecrown, I mulled over the question. How could we defeat the dragons? There was no easy answer, especially if Malygos himself decided to lead the attack. We could not have come this far to be defeated by the fact that our enemies had wings! There had to be a way, had to be…

My immediate answer was simply to gain more followers, but of course, time is a very precious commodity of which we had little. There simply wasn't enough time to seek out a susceptible race, convert them, and reap the benefits of their worship before the dragons arrived.  Of course, we had always intended to gain more servants, but never did we dream that a second threat would present itself so soon after the first's demise. There had to be some way to quickly gain an aerial defense. And to find something quickly, you needed a swift mind. And for a swift mind, I needed—

**_Azrael,_** I sent out my telepathic words. **_Azrael, what intelligence to you sense here? Is there something—anything—we can use against the dragons?_**

My fellow god responded almost instantly.

**_I sense many minds here, _**he said in his hissing, snakelike speech, **_I sense the intelligent, almost equal with that of Ner'Zhul himself, a few primitives, worshipping gods under a religion called "Voodoo," and  the almost nonexistent, consisting primarily of instinct. What do you need?_**

**_Look into their minds. Find me something--anything--that flies._**

There was a pause for a moment as Azrael performed the monumental task faster than any mortal could imagine. 

**_I have it,_** he said abruptly, **_They_****_ are animals Ner'Zhul imbued with life. Barely anything to look into. It's all hunger with them. If you promise them food, I have no doubt that they will serve you. It's a curiosity they didn't get themselves killed off in the first fortnight without the Lich King's guidance. _**

**_Perfect,_** I responded, **_what are these creatures called?_**

**_Gargoyles._****_ That's what Ner'Zhul called them: gargoyles._**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Narath kept running through the snow, ran though he did not know why. He felt...dry, shriveled up; a great void had opened inside his head, one that could not be filled. Even when the Lich King neglected to speak to him, Narath had always felt his presence. Oh how he had taken that presence for granted. Now he was hardly aware of what he did or why, but he did know that he was a failure. A coward. He had heard the cry of his master, and had known that all was lost. His whole life, it's meaning, lost.

And now he ran, ran as fast as he could, from the Frozen Throne, ran though his throat burned and his chest heaved with exhaustion and grief. As his eyes burned with either the sting of the Northrend air, or the salt of his own tears, Narath thought of nothing else but his failure. All of Ner'Zhul's loyal servants had died in the defense of their king. They had fallen, fought to the last...

As Narath ran, ran like a coward as his master lay dead. There was nothing left to the necromancer but to run. He had abandoned survival itself. His reason shattered, Narath kept running up the steep slopes of the mountains, never even noticing the small undead encampment until he found himself facing the wall of a small Necropolis. Looking around confused, Narath saw other Scourge remnants, more necromancers and acolytes, approaching him hesitantly. 

Narath panicked. He couldn't stay here! They must also know of his failure! He turned to run back down the icy slopes, but paused for a moment, for reasons he could not fathom. Just then, a fellow necromancer behind him spoke timidly.

"Master? What is going on? We all felt it, but..."

Narath stood there, not listening to the rest of the necromancer's speech. Master? As if the world were in complete silence, Narath turned around, hushing the voices of guilt in his mind. Managing to get some sort of a grip on himself, he studied the younger necromancer in front of him. Noticing the color of the speaker's robes and the staff that he bore, Narath realized something. Looking around at the other humans, he saw that it was true of all of them.

"You are adepts?" Narath asked, the raspy words forcing themselves out of his parched throat.

At this the younger necromancer, and most of his company as well, bowed their heads. 

"Yes master. We fought in the battle with our masters and commanders, but it was a complete rout. Only our company, which was placed relatively close to these peaks, managed to survive, and even then only those who were not forced into the fray..." 

At this the junior necromancer trailed off, his voice choking with emotion. The heads of his fellows bowed even lower. Then Narath realized; they too had run. They too had done all they could. They felt the same shame he had, yet only he knew what had happened and why. Straightening up, Narath placed his hand on his younger colleagues' shoulder. The necromancer looked up with haunted, bloodshot eyes. Knowing that those eyes mirrored his own, Narath spoke aloud what he had just realized himself.

"My friend, you have fought valiantly and done all you could. There is no shame in retreating after having done that. You deserve to know at least, the truth. My friends." Narath paused, wondering if he could even bring himself to acknowledge it aloud, then plunged on. "My friends, the Lich King has fallen."

At this the necromancers gasped, and the acolytes stared in dumb disbelief. They had known it in their hearts, yet would not bring themselves to admit it. To them the Lich King had represented the highest pinnacle of power, and to imagine that it was gone shook their world at its core. Even if they were not as devoted as Narath, they at least knew that they had all depended on the Lich King. Without him, they were–

_No! _Narath thought. _They are not doomed_._ I will not have it!_

"Servants of Ner'Zhul!" Narath shouted. Looking around, he saw to his satisfaction that all heads were turned towards him. "We all swore loyalty to the Lich King, and that oath still binds us! We will not lay down and die, we will not let the murderers who killed our master go unpunished! As long as we can move our limbs or cast a spell, the Scourge lives!"

The necromancers and acolytes around him stared, and then began to cheer. An acolyte stepped forward and bowed to Narath.

"Master, I was with Baron Perenold's company, near the front lines. Perenold was cut down, as were all the other commanders of Northrend." 

The other survivors nodded grimly. This news shocked Narath; he had not expected, despite the suddenness and severity of the attack, for _all_ of the Lich King's champions to have fallen. Before the full import of the disaster could sink in, the acolyte continued.

"Master, I believe that you are the highest ranking servant of Ner'Zhul remaining on Northrend. From now on I will serve you and the spirit of Ner'Zhul!"

One by one the other remnants of the Scourge offered their allegiance to Narath, and as the master Necromancer thanked each of them in turn, he brooded on that he, who had not too long ago been assigned to a lonely, trivial post, was the highest ranking servant of Ner'Zhul that remained alive in Northrend. As the final necromancer bowed, the one whom Narath had spoken to first, he asked an important question.

"Master, whom do we serve?"

"I am known as Narath Arcanis."

The young man nodded. "Within the mageocracy of Dalaran, those of high rank are known as ArchMages. So be it, ArchNecromancer Narath."

"ArchNecromancer." Narath murmured, and hoped only that he would live up to the title.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sil'Kan stalked through the bare trees with unnatural, almost feline grace. Normally one would not associate a troll with stealth, but prey had become more and more scarce on Northrend, making any catch you could get very important. In fact, Sil'Kan wasn't even a trapper, rather, a priest, but in this time of need, his village had employed him to hunt. Troll villages were something of a rarity, as they (particularly of the Ice variety,) were solitary creatures, living perhaps with their families and no one else. Even now there was talk among the elders of disbanding the village because there were too many mouths to feed. And so here Sil'Kan was, a voodoo priest, out hunting.

The forest itself was naked, bare of any needles or other semblance of life. Once these had been grandiose pines, providing shelter to many woodland creatures. However, the Undead's blight had rotted and corrupted them, pulling their essence away and leaving them little more than somber reminders of the life that had once flourished there. Oddly though, in recent days the blight seemed to be creeping back towards its source, almost as if the Scourge's taint was being dispelled. 

Sil'Kan studied the fresh snow beneath him. There were footprints there, pawed, probably belonging to a polar bear. Although the young priest knew he was no match for a bear in direct combat, he surmised he might be able to fell one if he had the element of surprise. Crouching low and being careful not to make the snow crunch, Sil'Kan slithered along the path that he hoped would lead to fresh meat.

Eventually he heard the steps of an animal in front of him, much heavier and careless. Every few minutes they would stop and there would be a snuffling sound, as though the animal were sniffing at something, but then they would start up again. At one of these intervals, Sil'Kan took the opportunity to creep forward and spy on his prey. It was, as he guessed, a bear, but it was behaving in a most peculiar manner. It was standing perfectly still, although swaying slightly in the night wind, and sniffing the air purposefully as though searching out some particular scent. Suddenly snapping out of its trance-like state, the bear began to move through the snow at a fast trot. Fearing he might lose his quarry, Sil'Kan set off after it. 

Suddenly the narrow path opened up into an icy meadow that was bathed in light; where such light was coming from during the midnight hours was a mystery to the young priest. His view into the meadow was blocked by the bear, which stood in the entrance for many minutes. Finally the troll simply slithered to a nearby tree and climbed into its upper boughs. The sight that awaited him was one he would never forget—hundreds of beasts were congregated in the clearing, covered in the golden glow. None of them attacked each other, strangely, as many of the beasts preyed on others present. 

But the beasts were not immediately what caught Sil'Kan's eye. No, what did that was something horrible and grotesque, terribly out of place in this scene of serenity. It was a massive, pulsating purple hill of flesh, covered in scales and hundreds of blinking red eyes. At its top was a horrible, circular mouth rimmed with serrated, foot-long teeth. It seemed to heave with every breath, as though it was struggling to exist. Also, strangely, its form seemed faded, as if it were shifting in and out of existence with every shuddering intake of air. Still, its appearance belied the strong voice that suddenly echoed in Sil'Kan's mind.

**_Come out, come out... wherever you are._**

The troll's heart froze at the sound of that voice, which wasn't really sound at all. It filled every crevice of his mind, obliterating any sane thoughts of escape. All he could do now was wait until it spoke again. And speak it did.

**_Come now, little creature. I won't hurt you._**

All Sil'Kan could think to do was obey; carefully he slid down the tree and moved through the entrance to the meadow, now vacated by his earlier prey. As he walked into the clearing, the beasts formed a perfectly straight line in front of the mound of flesh, each one staring at him with the dull look of a mind lacking sentience. 

**_I know what it is you seek,_** the voice said, **_food. Your tribe is in a time of famine, yes? I can give you all the food your people would ever want to have and so much more._**

Finding his tongue for the first time since the hunt began, Sil'Kan rasped out, "In return for what?" If what this creature said was true, the young priest would be the hero of his village. But at what price would it come?

The oppressive, overbearing voice laughed. 

**_Yes, even you, poor, confused creature, know that there is no such thing as a free meal. Very well, here is what I ask of you. Gather the finest axe-throwers in your village. Gather them, and bring them to the Icecrown glacier. I trust you know where that is?_** —Sil'Kan nodded— **_Good. Ah, but now you wonder why I want axe throwers, don't you? Very well, I'll tell you._** The beasts suddenly blinked as one. It was unnerving.

**_We have a great enemy that cuts through the skies on wings of frost. Our own forces, while adept at overwhelming and crushing land-borne foes, are useless against those that can fly. Ah, but again, doubt fills your mind. What enemies are these, you say? Why, the ones you mortals call "dragons". _**

Sil'Kan stared in disbelief. These creatures hoped to stand against the _dragons?_ This being couldn't be serious. 

**_Ah, but I am,_** it said, **_in fact, I will show you just how serious I am. _**

Many things happened at once, then; suddenly, massive rope nets appeared all around the meadow. The animals, who had up until now stood silent and still, suddenly burst forth from their pelts; the meat below the skin ripped itself away, and bones separated, and before his eyes, crafted themselves into fine, pure-white axes that glittered in the moonlight. All these things gathered together in the air above Sil'Kan's head and then descended into the nets, which promptly bundled themselves and rose into the air once again. In awe of this display, Sil'Kan suddenly dropped to his knees, staring at the nets in wonderment. 

**_You don't want to worship the voodoo gods any more, do you?_**

Sil'Kan shook his head.

**_You want to worship us, don't you?_**

Now the priest nodded.

**_You don't want the other trolls to worship the voodoo gods either, do you?_**

Shake.

**_In fact, I think voodoo is rather silly, don't you?_**

Nod. 

**_Now, take all this back to your village and spread the gift of your faith to all your fellows._**

Nod.

**_Good._**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**__**

Somehow, in Northrend, the roof of the world, the moons of Azeroth shone especially brightly. Hanging in the sky like globes of brilliant ice, they cast a pale blue glow over the world, and under their gaze all seemed silent and serene. It was not difficult to imagine the Night Elves worshipping a moon, and as Malygos and his kin came to rest lightly on the snow, the aspect lifted his gaze to the heavens. The sky was unusually clear; every twinkling gem of light was clearly visible in the heavens, shining with thousands of their kindred. 

They reminded Malygos of his kin before Neltharion betrayed the aspects and became Deathwing. Before, wielding the powers of the Demon's Soul, Deathwing drove the blue dragons nearly to the point of extinction. The aspects had managed to defeat Deathwing, and thought him gone forever. Malygos had spent those dark millennia sealed in a secluded cavern of Northrend. He had hoped to forget and be forgotten by the world. Looking back, Malygos thought that then he had been driven nearly to the point of insanity, left alone to dwell on Deathwing's betrayal. Loneliness got to everyone; even the aspects.

Then Deathwing returned, and Malygos, memories of betrayal and thoughts of vengeance the only things he had to dwell on during his long isolation, had again banded with the other aspects to defeat him. Deathwing had fled, gone into hiding once again, and Malygos' flight began to make a comeback. Over the years his children had recovered, but had never returned to their former glory.

Malygos shook his head and turned his thoughts to the present. All around him, blue dragons were landing by the hundreds. They covered the land in a carpet of sapphire scales, shifting here and there like some mystical flock of birds. As they mulled about, they sent restless glances towards him. Malygos knew that the situation had to be handled carefully; the only way even an Aspect, granted immortality by the Titans themselves, could defeat the Old Gods was with surprise and good fortune.

With a simple spell, Malygos had determined that what he had feared and expected had at the same time had come to pass; the Old Gods had destroyed the Lich King. Left nearly unopposed in Northrend, the Old Gods would have ample time to prepare before overrunning the world...but they had not taken Malygos into consideration.  

Sending a silent message to his kin, Malygos resumed his silent flight and began stealthily moving towards Icecrown glacier. As he skimmed over the shimmering ice, he noticed something that he was not sure how to react to. Below him, resting on the ground haplessly, were a number of frost wyrms. Malygos frowned; he had detested the creation of their kind, as the ancient dragons deserved their rest, and should never have been used as tools of evil. The other blue dragons, spotting the frost wyrms, halted and stared down at the Lich King's creations. Mixed expressions of curiosity and disgust were clearly visible on their faces. 

Malygos pondered the mindless creatures below. They had once been his kindred as well, and had flown and fought with him. They had been perverted into engines of destruction by the Lich King, but now apparently, without his guidance, they were left unintelligible and meaningless. Malygos mulled over his options; he could give the dragons the rest they so deserved, or they could aid the blue dragonflight once again. The aspect frowned; in the upcoming attack, he would need every dragon he could get.

The blue dragonflight was bound to its leader, and nothing changed after death. Without the commands of the Lich King to contradict Malygos' will, the leader of the blue dragonflight reached out to and touched the empty minds of the frost wryms. Immediately they reacted, rising to the air upon thin, decayed wings. Some of the living dragons shot questioning or doubtful glances at Malygos, but none dared oppose the aspect. Gesturing to continue the ascent, the blue dragonflight, both live and dead, proceeded towards Icecrown.

As Malygos and his kin landed again, this time upon a snowy mount just beyond which Icecrown Glacier lay wide open, the Spell-weaver listened carefully. A simple spell could have shown him what he now had to listen for, but sorcery, he knew, could be detected...and fooled. But as the other dragons landed lightly onto the snow around him, Malygos heard only the distant _crunch crunch of the Faceless moving about, along with a strange clicking and hissing sounds. The aspect smiled grimly; he had anticipated the Old Gods exactly. Of course, having vanquished the Lich King, they would be eager to escape the confines of their prison. Never expecting an attack in the lands they thought they had just claimed as their own, the Old Gods were now moving out in the open, utterly unprotected from an airborne attack._

Knowing that such an opportunity would never come again, Malygos the Spell-weaver, leader of the blue dragonflight, lifted into the air and charged into battle. Behind him, letting out one great roar that shattered the ice beneath them, one thousand dragons followed, pearly bone accompanying sapphire scales.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sil'Kan watched, both terrified and enthralled, as the dragons emerged from the mountains, just like the gods had said they would. Like magical creatures of dreams, the airborne reptiles, their gleaming scales reflecting the bright moonlight, gracefully flew above the glacier. Sil'Kan gazed upwards in wonder, as did nearly every other creature standing there on the snow. Just then his jaw dropped as he laid his eyes upon a massive blue dragon, so huge that he dwarfed any two of his companions. His form conveyed both majesty and power, and for one short moment the silence of the night prevailed.

Then the mighty dragon, the one that had so awed his enemies, let out a surprised growl, which quickly turned into a roar of rage. He had been deceived. Below him, two thousand trolls stood glaring up at the skies, all of them brandishing axes of bone; gifts of the Old Gods. From all over Northrend they came, for there had been others like Sil'Kan who had heard the summons. Next to them, five thousand Nerubians hissed in wonder at the sight of the dragons. Not all of them were apt warriors, but rather the most skilled webspinners remaining in Azjol-Nerub. They were lead by their seer, Ra'Anum, who himself was stunned by the sight both beautiful and terrible to behold in the skies.

And in their midst, a few hundred Faceless calmly marched unaware and unimpressed by the dragons, for on their shoulders they bore the Old Gods. Their masses of tentacles writhed in anticipation, and seeing that his foes were present, Malygos abandoned doubt and roared his challenge. In response, hisses and clicks resounded from the forms of the Old Gods, meaningless to the normal ear...but to their worshippers the message was very clear.

**_KILL THE BIG ONE!_**

Suddenly the silence shattered, and in unison the dragons unleashed a volley of freezing breath upon the creatures below. A brilliant blue hue lit up the skies, throwing the Glacier into sharp relief. Shaking themselves from their awe-struck state, the trolls seized their axes, both sharp and light, and hurled them into the sky...right before many of them were struck down as the dragons' wrath exploded amongst them. A frosty haze rose from the bodies of the trolls, just as their axes pierced the beautiful scales of the dragons, and their victims cried out in rage and pain.

Ra'Anum watched as the bodies of a few dragons fell to the earth, and waved his claw in an unspoken command to his people. Webspinning was a highly refined art among the Nerubians, and the seer himself was no good at it. However, five thousand long, silky strands of web shot into the sky, each glimmering like a thread of glass in the moonlight. Immediately, several threads stuck to the dragons, and more soon followed. A few dragons, completely tangled by the webspinners' snare, fell to the earth, shattering the ice beneath them. Brilliant shards sprayed into the air, glimmering like diamonds before falling to the cold earth.

Watching from a hill with his kin, Malgeron thought the display beautiful, each attack carried out gracefully, and each death heralded majestically. Though his heart pained with every dragon that fell, and his blood throbbed at the sight of battle, Malygos had ordered the dragonspawn to keep out of it. Their forces, numbering only one thousand, would be cut down with ease, and though Malgeron did not like it he kept still, his eyes darting across the glacier, hungry for every detail.

Malygos himself cut through the air above the glacier, sending blast after blast of frost raining down upon his foes. The energies crashed to the earth, and immediately shaped themselves into massive golems of ice. These gleaming servants of the Spell-weaver strode among the clusters of webspinners, pounding at them mercilessly with their icy fists. The few, feeble swarms the Nerubians managed to conjure did little against the solid frames of their foes. 

Paying little attention to the chaos below and around him, Malygos swooped down upon the fell procession of the Old Gods.  Obliterating the straggling Faceless at the back, the Aspect ignored the axes that bounced harmlessly off his scales and open his jaws wide, preparing to wipe out the entire convoy with one massive attack. Just then, the Old God at the back of the procession began wriggling its tentacles in excitement...and from the air in front of Malygos suddenly burst, as if from nowhere, a dozen swift, winged creatures that shrieked their hunger for all to hear. Unbelievably quickly, they dove at the aspect and began tearing at him with their talons. As the Aspect began to flail at the attackers, others landed on his wings, and began slashing at them with every sharp limb they possessed.

Forgetting about the Old Gods, Maylgos roared in rage. From his body issued forth a blast of freezing wind that knocked out the horrid creatures, and seeing more Nerubians and Trolls flocked to the God's defense Malygos returned to the skies. At a command from the Old Gods, from the surrounding mountains more swarms of the creatures poured. They flew into the air, intent only on carnage. Hunting down and diving at the dragons fearlessly, the savage beings slashed at their foes whenever they could get close enough, their sharp claws rending the tough hide. When they failed to get close enough to their enemies, they fired instead ill-aimed bolts of malicious energy that melted scale and burned flesh. 

Soon the skies above were filled with thousands of globs of light that crisscrossed the night sky.

Malygos realized that his kin could not concentrate on both battling the winged creatures and evading the axes and webs from below. He called to his kin to follow him, and darted high into the sky, far out of reach for those bound to the earth. The gargoyles pursued, but at least now the fight would be on even terms. As Malygos dodged bolts of energy, he cast enchanted shards of ice into the air. As gargoyles passed, the shards darted at them at nearly imperceptible speeds and impaled them, dropping with their lifeless bodies to the ground far below. 

More dragons fell, and as Malygos spared a look around, his heart fell too. The gargoyles moved too quickly to bit hit, and the large, slower dragons were easy prey for them. They were fighting a losing battle, one that was perhaps doomed from the start. Still not ready to give up, Malygos poured forth his energies into the air and cast one last spell that could destroy the Gods and end the madness.

An enormous, white storm cloud blossomed in the sky, all at once turned bright and ominous by the intense moonlight. Within the thick haze, both dragons and gargoyles vanished from sight, visible only as vague shadows even by each other. Flashes of lightning further illuminated the clouds, and very solemnly, huge spears of ice began raining from the sky. 

The blizzard engulfed all of Icecrown Glacier, as the hail massacred the creatures below. The Old Gods, now approaching the shelter of the Lich King's former abode, erected a small shield around themselves which the ice crashed against harmlessly. Malygos meanwhile, was occupied and had no idea that his last hope to destroy the Gods had failed.

Ten gargoyles, heeding the command of their new masters, spiraled after the Aspect, firing bolts and flailing talons. Malygos evaded them as best he could, though occasionally he could feel the unpleasant sensation of a bolt melting into his hide. As the aerial dancers flew, Malygos sensed electricity forming nearby. Leading the gargoyles towards it, he was pleased to hear the lightening sizzle and smell the burning flesh of his foes as he passed.

Then suddenly a bolt of pure malice arced up into the sky and struck Malygos. Utterly unprepared for the sudden assault, Malygos' head spun with the Old God's hatred. It was only when he emerged from the cover of the storm clouds that Malygos realized that he was falling. He flapped his wings weakly...

As a hundred axes imbedded themselves in his maimed hide. Roaring in pain, the aspect flew, barely dodging another blast from the Old Gods, and barely noticing the ice that continued to fall from the clouds, crashing against his already weakened body. As Malygos felt his breath grow haggard and his muscles go limp, he realized that he was dying. He, who was entrusted to defend the world by the Titans, he who was never supposed to die. He, who was the embodiment of sorcery, had been beaten by a still greater power. 

Malygos' weary mind felt regret at having to leave his job unfinished, the world in peril... yet perhaps now he could finally rest. The aspect flew from the glacier, finally landing in the cold snow of the mountains. Hearing the cries of his kin, he sent them one last message.

_Flee. He told them, then shut his eyes and died.             _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the Blue dragons broke and fled from the hail of axes and talons, the Great Blue Leviathan streaked off into the midnight sky. We heard a final roar, and the massive, almost explosive sound of thousands of pounds of flesh crashing into rock. Azrael, hissing in victory, reported feeling the dragon god's mind shudder and disappear forever.

We were eternal.

We were invincible. 

The magical storm brought on by the aspect dissipated, leaving us bathed in moonlight. Our new troll servants let out an almost lupine howl as one. Though we had only heard their voices a few times, there was no mistaking what they meant.

_Victory.___

The trolls had proved to be easy to convert, and without them, our legacy might have perished that night beneath the full, Northrend moon. But now, do to the fact that they craved a commodity so simple we could create it from nothing, we had gained a group of worshippers five times greater than what we already possessed. Were it not for their last minute conversion, we would not have been able to lash out against the Aspect itself. 

The gargoyles, our other newfound servants, descended upon the carnage of the battlefield and feasted upon the rare delicacy of dragon hide and meat. Soon they were turned blood red in the moonlight, shrieking in the ecstasy of their morbid feast. 

They were great assets to us. The gargoyles granted us an armada of air warriors, and soon we would breach the confines of that continent, Northrend. It had become like our tomb in a way, though much more vast. But now, unlike before, we could make our own way out. We were not buried, left to rot and slip from the minds of mortals. 

No longer would we be forgotten.

Now, this world would fear to forget us.   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malygos stirred. The first thing his clouded mind registered was that he felt...strange. He couldn't quite place the feeling. Then it hit him. What was going on? He was dead! He shouldn't be stirring. Slowly the fallen aspect heaved his body upright. He could hear bone creaking, but strangely he couldn't feel them. Malygos' mind still felt strangely suppressed, what was wrong with him?

Slowly and not without effort, Malygos opened his eyes. There was a figure standing in front of him. Quite suddenly, his vision cleared, and with a wrenching sensation he saw who it was.

It was a necromancer.

Malygos' cry of rage resounded throughout Azeroth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors' Notes:

ShadowedLight: Hi everybody! Out of habit I'll be doing reviewer acknowledgements this time around...lets see...wow...31 reviews. Thank you very much people! We always appreciate reviews. (I'm not as great at expressing thanks as Eternity is _) Anyways, on to the acknowledgements...

Queen of the Harpies, Sorry that we had to kill off the Lich King! Don't worry, I'm sure that after a while you won't even notice. Yeah, Eternity's insect/god section _was really cool. Thanks as always for your always...emotional reviews. _

demon_bright, More apologies for Arthas's death. That move wasn't popular obviously _ Oh well, this fic is all about being unorthodox. ^_^ Hey hey! My battle scene was better than the books? Why thank you! As for Link in Azeroth, I don't think I'll be able to get back to that in a while, what with this fic and Tears of the Legion (apologizes to those who follow LiA. It _will be updated sometime). Anyhow, many thanks. _

Lancer Davion, You happened to come along right after we posted the new chapter, so ff.net didn't have a chance to update it. Anyway, glad to see you're interested!

rabid fan, I'm running out of words to express our thanks for these reviews, so I'll just say thank you, thank you!

Kellendros, glad you liked the chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one too. Eternity is probably very happy that you liked his awesome gods and insects scene too. And yeah, Ra'Anum is cool. ^_^

Rowan Seven, Thank you thank you! Hope you enjoyed the blue dragons in this chapter...and about the Lich King, you must keep in mind that the Old Gods once took on the TITANS. Granted, they're not as strong now, but when they all pool their power together, it should be enough…we think. _ Anyhow, thank you for the sites! (if you can spare the info, we would much appreciate it if you could email us the information about what ended up happening in Kalimdor one year after the world tree battle.)

RandoM-TerroR, Hm. My, you are observant. Well, I suppose I screwed up with the ghoul count, but whatever. Anyway, about the Lich King, we still believe that it's Ner'Zhul's spirit and mind that dictates his actions, and his servants still know him as Ner'Zhul. After all, it is hard to change the name of a god. About the fear...well...it's a fic. We can do whatever we want. :D And about the Lich King's death, 2000 worshippers is enough to give each God substantial power. They pooled that power together in a temporal surge (which, by the way, _is_ how Ra'Anum killed Anub'Arak) in order to disable the Lich King.

And now for the big K. Kendrakthos, I've decided to actually dignify your review by breaking it down before responding. So, lets look this over shall we?

_"Alright._ Alright. I tried to be proper and civilized about this."_ Really? Well, for all your attempted use of big words, I don't know just WHERE you learned the definitions of "proper" and "civilized", but wherever that was, you'd best look it up again. In the past, you have stated that certain persons were "morons", "ignorant, uneducated, worthless" and had "something akin to a third grade education". Not too civilized in my opinion, but that might just be me._

_"Really, I did." Nope, don't think so._

_"I tried to warn all of you pathetic buffoons out there to stop with the idiotic reviews." Hmm, actually the only truly idiotic reviews we've received were yours. And by the way, I don't think the other reviewers appreciate being called pathetic buffoons._

_"I am trying to help you guys here, to be honest." You have an extremely rude way of going about it, that's for sure._

_"But how do you repay me?" With well-deserved criticism instead of the good beating you've earned from a number of reviewers._

_"With insults?" Actually, I was under the impression that "pompous hypocrite" was a very apt description, and kinder than most that you've probably received._

_"With schoolyard taunting?" If this were a schoolyard, I would think of something better to say than "pompous hypocrite". I was trying to be proper and civilized with you Kendrakthos, but apparently you've been too busy having fun with Bill Clinton to realize that._

_"All that is missing now are the uninteligable racial slurs!" Well, since uninteligable is not a word, I'll just have to assume you mean _unintelligible_. Anyhow, in my mind, the phrases "pompous hypocrite" and "racial slurs" fail to link themselves. Of course this doesn't necessarily mean you're __insane, just...__special, like your mom reminds you every day._

_"Let me put it in yet a simpler way:" Well, nothing you've said has made much sense thus far, so I welcome the change. Whoops! Capital letters don't make anything clearer Kendrakthos. Just cause it's bigger doesn't mean it's better (kinda like your ego)._

_"BRING IT ON!" Someone needs anger management._

_"THIS WILL BE MY LAST REVIEW FOR THIS FIC!" Very glad to hear it. We'll even help you out; any further reviews you accidentally submit will be removed. _

_"LET'S SEE HOW LONG YOU INGRATE CHIPMUNKS LAST WITHOUT ME!" *laughs* Big language won't save you here, kiddo. *laughs again*_

_"CAN YOU LIVE A DAY BEFORE YOU COME CRAWLING BACK TO ME ON YOUR KNEES?" *looks at watch* Well, we've lasted a bit longer than a day Mr. K. Try again next millennia and we might all be inclined to bow down and worship you...or not._

_"A WEEK?"__ Nope, wanna use a lifeline? We've got 50/50, ask the audience, call a friend...oops don't have any eh? _

_"A FORTNIGHT?" Is that your __final answer?_

_"I COULD TAKE ANY FIVE OF YOU SCRAWNY WRETCHES AT FISTICUFFS!" Okay, I have no idea what fisticuffs are, but if it's a catfight with scrawny wretches that you want, you'd best look elsewhere._

_"BRING IT ON!" Someone sure enjoys pointless repetition. You know Kendrakthos, some people may, _just may_, get the impression that you talk big just to hear yourself speak. _

Eternity And A Half: *humming quietly* FEEELINGS...oh, um hi! didn't see you there! *turns slightly pink*  
  


Oh well, enough of my nonsense. I'd just like to thank all our readers for...um...reading. This chapter took a LOT of effort, and considering it took 3 days, I think it should be good. Unfortunately, I'm gonna be gone for the weekend, so no updates till this upcoming Tuesday or Wednesday. Sorry everybody!  
  


Anyway, I'd just like to commend my co-author for his fantastic battle scenes. Don'tcha all just love em? Well, if you do, say something! And please, please, please keep reading. And keep reviewing. 31 reviews for 3 chapters? Sweeeet. Well, anyways, I think I've babbled about nothing for long enough. See y'all on monday! ^_~


	5. Flight from the Darkness

Chapter IV: Flight from the Darkness

Narath and the other remnants of the Scourge pondered their next move. Their small stronghold in the mountains had not yet been discovered, but it was clear that if they remained for much longer, the Old God's attention would inevitably be drawn to them. Narath had never quite understood how difficult it was to be a commander, but now he did. Whatever actions he took now would either save or destroy his people, the only survivors of Northrend who knew of the terrible threat. 

It was clear that they must warn the other parts of the Scourge, whose armies were scattered in Lordaeron and Kalimdor. However, the only way to escape Northrend would be by sea or sky. There was a marina on the coast with a number of ships still docked, but by now it was surely in enemy hands. As for air, the Scourge had never particularly preferred that mode of transportation, and there were no provisions for that sort of escape. Torn by indecision, Narath had had his followers, numbering about two hundred, hunt and string up penguins for the journey he intended to make.

As night fell, the two moons of Azeroth hung ominously in the sky, and a thick snow had begun to fall in the mountains. Narath had wondered what would happen next. Later into the night, carried by the howling winds, screams and roars unlike anything they'd ever heard before reached their ears. The sounds spoke of anger and pain, and it chilled Narath even as he stood in the ranging snowstorm. Finally the screams subsided, and a final, great roar shook the mountains. As it came, the snow stopped falling, and Narath's followers walked out from the windows of the Necropolis, now half-buried in the snow.

Now they wondered what had caused such commotion. A battle had taken place, that much was clear, but between whom? Clearly the mysterious purple creatures were involved, as the sounds came from the Glacier. One of the necromancers had suggested that the cries had reminded him of the Lich King's frost wyrms, and another had said they sounded like gargoyles. But they were both presumably left mindless after the Lich King's death. So who had challenged the murderers of Ner'Zhul?

Narath did not know, but he was determined to find out. Setting off across the snow with a small detachment of necromancers, they moved steadily higher up the mountain in hopes of being able to see what had happened from the frosty peak. The journey had not been overly pleasant, as the scourge remnants kept falling through the loose snow banks. Occasionally cursing their clumsiness and the mountain, Narath and his cohorts had finally made it to the frosty peak...

And there they had found something that they had never expected to see in all of their dark days. At first to them it had appeared to be a mountain of polished sapphires, until they noticed the countless cuts and burns all over it. 

"By Ner'Zhul," One of the necromancers breathed, "What is it?"

Narath had been asking himself the same question as he walked around the massive object. There seemed to be hundreds of pearly-white axes of strange make stuck into the thing, but how had it gotten there? Then he came to a halt and approached the curiosity. There seemed to be a massive, ivory fang protruding from a large bump on the hill, but that would mean...the Archnecromancer's blood froze. Backing away in fear, he looked at the rest of the creature with a renewed perspective. Those lumps higher up, those were closed eyelids...the caverns formed on either side of the object were wings...the sapphires were scales, and the object was...

"A dragon!" Narath hissed hoarsely.

At this the other necromancers, who had been walking around the dragon, patting its scales, and examining its wounds curiously, all backed away hastily. As they reexamined the creature, comprehension dawned on their faces, which, like Narath, quickly turned to fear. None of them had ever encountered a live dragon before, but even those who were not acquainted with the Lich King's frost wyrms knew that a dragon this size could literally wipe them out in its sleep. They braced themselves, expecting the dragon to awaken at any moment and devour the lot of them. A minute passed. Then two.

Very cautiously, Narath approached the dragon again. Examining the countless wounds and watching carefully for any movement, he finally came to a surprising conclusion.

"It's dead!"

At this, the necromancers burst into excited chatter. All fear forgotten, they approached the dragon again, pulling axes from its hide and marveling at how the well-preserved corpse had fooled them. Narath too had wondered about that; the creature couldn't have perished more than a few hours ago. Its flesh was still intact, and if not for the various wounds, it could easily pass as a living, sleeping dragon. One of the necromancers hurried over to Narath.

"Master, if we could raise this beast from the dead and enslave it..."

The necromancer stopped, his eyes shining with delight. Narath frowned. The dragon would undoubtedly be a great help, but it was unlikely that a dragon even of that size could carry all of his followers. Even if it could, and he were to raise it from the dead, Narath would have to struggle to keep its mind under his control. Without the Lich King, necromancy suddenly seemed like a losing tactic.

Then suddenly, an idea struck him. It seemed utterly ridiculous and absurd, and most certainly would have drawn laughs during the Lich King's reign, but now...

"Necromancers!" Narath called. His cohorts, some of whom were now climbing on the dragon for further examination, all turned their heads towards him. "I have decided to resurrect this creature, but to do so I will need solitude. I will thank you if you can proceed further down the mountainside until I call you again."

He saw that they did not like the idea of him staying alone with a massive dragon that was not likely to take undeath in stride, and that some of them were about to protest. Narath raised his hand to silence them.

"My friends, I understand your concern, but this is something that I must insist upon."

The necromancers continued to stare at him. Then one by one, they nodded. Slowly, as if still unsure, they climbed down from the massive cadaver and began walking down the mountain, occasionally glancing back up at their leader. Narath waited until they disappeared from view, then stood in front of the dragon's face. Hoping that he had enough strength for the job, he closed his eyes and began focusing his energies. Feeling mana sizzle through him, he directed it towards the corpse and began imbuing it with the undead plague. As he felt the last of the energy flow from him, Narath opened his eyes.

The dragon was stirring. It was almost imperceptible, but it was stirring. Slowly, as it got to its feet, Narath realized that in his tension he had been clamping down on the creature's mind. Manipulating minds was new to him. He quickly released control, and the dragon's eyes snapped open. As they focused in on Narath, the Archnecromancer could see comprehension form in the undead eyes.

The following cry almost knocked Narath unconscious. Reeling from the deep, booming sound that had suddenly become the whole world, Narath struggled to silence the creature. 

_Quiet! Quiet! QUIET!_ He ordered.

Suddenly the dragon stopped, and shut its mouth to glare at Narath. Behind those eyes Narath could see wisdom and madness, but in front of them there was only malice and rage. The Archnecromancer was amazed that such hatred could be directed at him, and for a moment he stared into the dragon's eyes, lost in their depths. Then, shaking himself from his trance, he released the tension he had on the dragon's mind. The creature, seeming to understand, made no move to attack him.

"I am sorry that it had to come to that." Narath apologized guardedly. At this the dragon seemed surprised, but immediately caught himself and returned to his angry glare.

"You, you who awoke me, you who finds nothing sacred, you say you are sorry?" The dragon hissed.

Narath nodded. "Yes, I have never enjoyed fighting or suppressing the will of others."

At this the dragon's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "So you say that as long as I do what you say, you will not make me do it?"

The Archnecromancer frowned. "I do not want it to be that way."

The dragon's eyes shot open, then to Narath's surprise it began to laugh. "You do not? What other way has your kind ever known?"

"None." Narath said, and the dragon glared triumphantly. "But I hope to teach them another."

The dragon lay down upon the cold snow again and looked at Narath with interest. "You mean to change them? To lead them in a new direction? A noble cause you have, yes, but can you do it?"

"I don't know." Narath muttered, as the dragon's words mirrored his thoughts. "But there is another way. That I _do_ know."

"And what way is this?" The dragon pressed.

"I do not have to force you to do something if you agree to do it." Narath said, casting his gaze downwards. 

The dragon was silent for a moment. Then it spoke again.

"And how will you accomplish this?" It asked softly.

Narath looked up. "If our goals are the same, and I believe they are, then you have no reason not to cooperate."

The dragon's anger had faded, and a look of serenity had replaced it.

"How do you presume to know my goals?"

"You want to protect this world, don't you? That is what the dragons are known for." Narath said, staring back into the dragon's eyes. "At the very least you wish to stop those who murdered my king. That was you over the glacier last night, wasn't it?"

The dragon nodded and looked pleased.

"You understand well for your kind. But do you know who I am?"

The dragon's stare now seemed to pierce Narath in a way that made him uncomfortable. 

"No great one, I do not."

"Then I will tell you." Suddenly the dragon spread his wings wide and stood up, revealing the full extent of his size and majesty. Narath gaped wordlessly as the dragon smiled down at him; the being before him had seemed to double in size. "I am Malygos the Spell-weaver, one of the five aspects of this world! I was chosen by the Titans themselves to guard this world and lead the Blue Dragonflight. It would seem that duty goes beyond death, no?"

Narath, stunned by this revelation, could only nod. Malygos smiled grimly and folded his wings.

"Then, necromancer, what do offer that will let me uphold that duty?"

Narath pondered that. He had not expected to have to prove himself to the dragon. "I can assure you that your kindred who fall return with their own will, and those of the Dragonblight may serve you again."

Malygos grimaced. "For many years my kin have traveled to the Dragonblight to converse with their ancestors. Your kind has defiled it since, but still they predicted a cataclysm that would threaten this world like nothing before. Perhaps the time indeed has come for them to come again to the defense of Azeroth."

Narath held his breath as the Aspect thought. Then suddenly Malygos lifted his head and smiled at Archnecromancer. "Perhaps you _can lead your people from the fate I believed they were doomed to. But what is your name, human?"_

Narath exhaled with relief. "My name is Narath."

Malygos bowed his head. "Then I pledge the Blue Dragonflight to your service Narath, so long as our goals remain the same."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Icecrown would provide a fine temple for us, I had decided. Its imposing, looming cliffs and frozen majesty would send a clear message to all who would dare oppose us: there is nothing but obedience or death to be found here. Challenge the gods of this temple and perish. 

Still, there were a few matters still of concern to we gods of old, the first being a strange disturbance that had occurred but a few hours after the battle against the Blue Leviathan was won. A massive roar had resounded, but the echo had made it impossible to determine the exact location it had come from. Azrael attempted to seek out the mind that had created it, but found it strangely clouded and inaccessible to his powers. Thusly, we would have to discover the source by more simplistic means. 

I summoned our troll servitor, the voodoo priest Sil'Kan, to our main chambers. Immediately upon entrance he found himself prostrate before our glory. Ordering him to stand, I told Sil'Kan of the disturbance and gave him his orders. Eager to please us, he hurried from the chamber to tell his brethren of their mission.

The second matter of concern to us was recalling our wayward original worshippers, the Elementals. Though most were dissipated, returned to the earth by the Titans, some had managed to escape that fate. Scattered and cut off from us, they had split apart and spilled to ever corner of the world. Over the ages, without our guidance, they were left only to ferment their hatred for the Titans. They had become malefic beings without purpose or faith.

Now, we would give them both.

Pooling all of our now considerable power, we Old Gods sent out our commands, reawakening the long forgotten part of their minds that bound them to us. Drawing on their hunger for power and their former devotion to us, we called out across the unfathomable distance.

Come to us, our servants of old. Come to us, our wayward worshippers. Come to us, those called Revenants. Come to us and serve your masters once again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sil'Kan's detachment was not of large nature; with him were approximately fifty berserkers, give or take. His mission was not one of direct combat, but rather, reconnaissance. The Old Gods had been very specific with their instructions: find the source of the disturbance, but do not engage enemy forces, and take Ra'Anum with you.

Ra'Anum. Oh how Sil'Kan hated that insect. 

Nerubians and Ice Trolls had never been on particularly good terms in the first place. But now, with both races being in service of the Old Gods, tensions between them had flared. If it were not for their strict devotion to their new masters, open civil strife might well have broken out between the two races. But as of now, they would have to settle for deeply resenting one another. Quietly.

Being the leaders of their respective races, Ra'Anum and Sil'Kan always treated one another with the greatest honor and formality; however, the tension between the two was always perceptible. Sil'Kan thought Ra'Anum was too much for grandiose speeches and being on his high horse than leading the Nerubians. This belief, in his eyes, was confirmed when the Seer appeared donning chitinous armor with many emblems and symbols painted on. However, this was not the most extravagant piece of the spider's appearance. 

Set into his helm, like one of the horns of the ancient Crypt Lords, was the Lich King's sword, Frostmourne. It glowed and pulsed like a hideous star, and its very presence made Sil'Kan shiver. Ra'Anum had most certainly seemed to have changed; before, he had merely been the starved, weakened leader of the Nerubian resistance. Now, in Sil'Kan's opinion, he was becoming drunk with his newfound power. Silently Sil'Kan swore to someday teach the bug a memorable lesson.     

Sighing, Sil'Kan motioned to his few troops to drop to the ground. To his surprise, even Ra'Anum obeyed, bending down so far that his arachnid body was even with his feet. Although they were still well within the Old Gods' realm of influence, Sil'Kan thought it better to be prepared. He set off at a slow, slithering pace, his forces in tow.

Although it was unclear where exactly the disturbance had come from, Sil'Kan thought he might have an idea. He had a lingering suspicion, little more than that, but it was enough to go on. And so, with only a slight hunch, the voodoo priest Sil'Kan set off towards the great Dragonblight, his Nerubian counterpart breathing almost angrily at his heels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Almost as if he were witnessing a dream, Narath had made his way down the mountain with Malygos flying lightly behind. The Archnecromancer was in a daze. It had worked. He had convinced an undead to follow him, and an Aspect no less. Narath had read about the Aspects during his studies, but had never given them much thought. Their powers had seemed almost too vast to be true, and so long it did not involve him, Narath had been reluctant to dwell on the subject.

But now it did involve him; the Blue Dragonflight could be the key to everything. The Scourge had become known and hated by nearly every living creature in Azeroth, but the dragons, the dragons were respected beyond belief. Their power could unite the undead, who Narath was sure had become scattered after the death of Ner'Zhul. And Malygos was proof that Narath's philosophy could work; the Scourge did not have to enslave its armies.

Almost unable to believe this fortunate turn of events, Narath suddenly looked back. He had, without noticing it, missed the steady wing beats of the Aspect. Sure enough, Narath did not see the massive, emerald dragon. Looking around frantically, he heard a calm, familiar voice come from his side.

"Looking for me?"

Narath spun around. Standing before him was a man clothed in a tattered, blue robe. The hood was pulled over his face so that nothing showed but two bright, intelligent eyes. In his hand was a staff akin to those used by the Kirin Tor. Had it not been for the voice, Narath would have failed to recognize the being before him. Still, he was relieved; for a moment he had feared that the Aspect had fled. Apparently knowing what he was thinking, Malygos spoke.

"I've made a vow, human. I will uphold it."

 "Malygos?" Narath wondered aloud, still not quite comprehending how the massive dragon he had known moments before could be the mysterious mage speaking to him.

The Aspect nodded. "Yes. My kind is adept at changing shapes when need be. You walk so slow I thought that this form would fit better."

The Archnecromancer was about to ask how the dragons managed such a feat, but then thought better of it. They were _dragons after all. Instead he switched to a different, more imporant subject._

"Malygos, do you know what those creatures are? How they managed to defeat the Lich King?"

At this the Aspect's eyes darkened. "Yesss. They are creations of the Old Gods, beings that fought the Titans. They entombed beneath the earth as punishment, but now by the foolishness of your kind, they are free. Their power is great, greater than I had thought. And soon it will become greater."

Narath's blood went cold. Greater? He could not imagine the beings that killed Ner'Zhul becoming any greater than they already were. Had it been just about anyone else the Archnecromancer had been talking to, he would have balked at the notion. He had always thought of the tales of the Titans as myths...but if power like that had once existed...

"Is there any way we can stop them?"

At this the Aspect looked levelly at him. "We can always hope. But from what I have seen it will be difficult. Perhaps the most difficult task I have ever faced in all my years."

Narath frowned. With all the power the Spell-weaver was supposed to possess, it was amazing to him that the Aspect was scared. Then he remembered that the Old Gods had slain both Ner'Zhul and Malygos, and suddenly Narath realized the full import of the threat they all faced.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malgeron was in shock. He and his kin had stood on the mount overlooking Icecrown as their God had fought the enemies. Awed by the display, they had stood motionless as the beings on both sides clashed. Their hearts had soared with hope as Malygos had swooped down upon the Old Gods, but had just as quickly turned to dread as the gargoyles entered the fight. Still, no matter how bad the battle had looked, not one of the dragonspawn had ever feared for their lord. Malygos to them was untouchable.

But then had come the fury of the Old Gods. The dragonspawn had watched shocked as the beam of malice had shot through the sky, and Malygos fell from the storm cloud. They had watched as the axes and ice hammered the Aspect, and finally how Malygos had fled into the mountains to die in peace.

Still, they all had hope that he yet lived, for the dragons above still fought...until the Spell-weaver's last, tortured cry had reached their ears. _Flee, he had told them. __Flee. And so the dragons, with a cry of lament, broke off their attack and flew off to hide in dark corners of the Northrend. They had left the dragonspawn, stunned and dispirited, to watch the gargoyles' terrible meal._

Finally, without a word, Malgeron had turned around and began to walk towards the dragonblight. The dragonspawn had all followed him, and from other nests in Northrend they more had come. Soon they formed a long, somber procession, with only the occasional sob of a grieved dragonspawn to break the silence. They had come to the Temple of Malygos, and had gathered inside its great halls by the thousands. There they wept freely, cut off from all sound of the outside world.

They had remained so, and now Malgeron stood upon the Altar, hoping desperately that somehow the Aspect had survived, that somehow he would speak to him. But he had seen the wounds, to many and too deep. They had all heard that last cry, and they knew that the Spell-weaver would never flee had there been hope, and there was always hope so long as the Aspect lived. Malgeron bowed his head in grief...then suddenly inside all of their minds spoke a voice, firm and reassuring.

**_Do not grieve, my children._**

Malgeron lifted his head in shock. All around him, thousands of heads echoed his actions. 

"M-Malygos?" Malgeron whispered in wonder.

**_Yes my child. It appears as though it is my fate to lead the Blue Dragonflight, even after death._**

Reverting to traditional mental communication, Malgeron spoke again._ After death? Your servant dose not understand you, lord._

**_I was killed by the Forgotten Ones. _**

The dragonspawn gasped. What could the Aspect mean? Had Malygos' spirit somehow survived? Malgeron cocked his head, puzzled. _How have you achieved his miracle then, master?_

**_Fate had in store for me a different future. All you need know now is that I have made a deal with the Scourge survivors. _**

Malgeron's heart skipped a beat. If Malygos had been captured by the Scourge...the dragonspawn shook his head. Even if the Aspect had been subjugated, it was Malgeron's duty to help him as best he could.

_What do you command Malygos?_

**_This continent has become too dangerous for us all. We must warn the rest of Azeroth. Meet us on the dragonblight, we will be there soon._**

Malgeron thought about that. It could well be an undead trap; they would lure the dragonspawn out where they could be easily ambushed. Then they would be raised from the dead. The dragonspawn shook his head sadly. They had no choice; if they did not go, and the undead were keeping Malygos prisoner, then they would risk injury to the Aspect.

_It will be done._ Malgeron said.**__**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Narath watched as Malygos, back in dragon form, stood atop the Necropolis with eyes shut tight in concentration. The Archnecromancer and the Aspect had come up with a plan, and to Narath it had sounded like a good one. Now Malygos was recalling the blue dragons, and had made it clear that he required silence to do it. Below him, watching with baited breath, were the few hundred Scourge remnants. Their eyes were fixated on the dragon above them, though once in a while frustrated glances were sent towards the Archnecromancer.

When Narath had arrived in the Scourge encampment with Malygos, the necromancers were skeptical upon seeing the strange mage. Once Narath had explained who the dragon actually was, they had broken out into cheers. However, when the Archnecromancer explained his take on undeath, many of his underlings had disagreed. Even some of the acolytes expressed discomfort with the notion. If their servants were given a free will, the necromancers argued, they would turn on them in a second. Narath disagreed, and held the Aspect as an example. And besides, the Archnecromancer had said, they could always put threatening allies on a leash if need be.

Suddenly the Aspect's eyes snapped open. He spread his wings and landed softly before Narath.

"Is it done?" The Archnecromancer inquired.

"Yes. We must hurry; the Old Gods are on the move."

"What do you suggest we do?" Narath asked.

"We should head for the dragonblight immediately."

Narath nodded. It made sense. Turning around to address his troops, Narath cleared his throat. "Okay, leave everything behind. We can find food later; right now getting off of Northrend is our only concern."

"How are we going to do that?" One of the necromancers in the back asked.

"With dragons. We're riding dragons out of here." 

At this the necromancers began to talk excitedly amongst themselves. Narath pounded the ice with his staff to get their attention.

"I said we move out! If the Old Gods get to the dragonblight before we do, our last chance will be lost. Now get moving!"

Narath began marching through the snow, towards the dragonblight. Malygos switched to his human form, and began to walk alongside the Archnecromancer. The others soon fell into line, and silently they made their way across Northrend. Suddenly, Malygos halted. Walking over to a cliff, he peered down the mountainside and let out a hiss. The necromancers quickly joined him and did not like what they saw.

A small force of maybe fifty trolls and an extremely decorated Nerubian was making its way through the snow, unmistakably moving towards the dragonblight as well. Narath was about to give the order to attack when Malygos shook his head. Sighing, the Archnecromancer moved further away from the cliff and spoke in a low whisper.

"Why should we not attack? We vastly outnumber them and with your help it should be easy to crush them."

"Where their servants tread, the Old God's sight will follow." Malygos hissed. 

Realizing his error, Narath shook his head ashamedly and gestured to the other, curious necromancers to keep moving. Doubling the pace to make sure that they reached the dragonblight first, the Archnecromancer wondered if there was anything he could do without endangering his followers. No, was his conclusion.

As they cut across the mountains to save time, the dragonblight came into view. Narath had seen it once before, but that did not take away from the wonder of it. Filling the land below him, the Archnecromancer saw only a sea of petrified skeletons. The ancient dragons were all enormous before their death, and the forest below him was simply astounding to Narath. It was grey, all grey covered with a layer of white snow. The sight was eerie yet awe-inspiring. Looking to his side, Narath could see Malygos darkly considering the graveyard before him, and what was about to become of it.

"Are you ready?" Narath asked, hoping that he would have enough strength for the task.

"Yesss." Malygos hissed softly.

Narath raised his staff above his head, and Malygos returned to his natural form. Shutting his eyes, the Aspect sent volts of raw mana coursing over him. One such bolt struck Narath's upraised staff, and immediately channeled down to flow into the Archnecromancer's body. More and more bolts latched onto the staff, and the air sizzled with the stench of sorcery. The necromancers' felt the energy crackling against their skin as they watched their leader become engulfed by the Aspect's energy...

Then Narath pointed his staff down towards the dragonblight, and the raw mana shaped itself into a dark spell that cascaded onto the ground below, eagerly waiting to flow into a corpse. The pure necromantic energy spread rapidly on contact as if hungering to fulfill its purpose. 

The magic touched a skeleton. Bright, twinkling eyes appeared in its hollow skull. Thin, rotting flaps of skin stretched out to replace its wings. Slowly, with snow and soot falling from its body, the frost wyrm got to its feet. Flapping its wings, it rose into the air to hover before Malygos. The Aspect nodded to it, and the frost wyrm performed a mid-air bow of sorts.

The magic began to spread throughout the dragonblight, touching more and more skeletons. Soon they were like a flock of gulls they rose into the sky, and then a swarm of gnats. Hundreds of frost wyrms rose into the sky. Thousands. Ten thousands. The magic leapt quickly from bone to bone, like surges of electricity traveling through metal. 

The frost wyrms flapped through the air aimlessly, skeletal wings beating at the cold Northrend air. At a command from the Spell-weaver, they formed a huge coiling mass that flew with one dragon following the other. Soon the entire face of the dragonblight was lifted, but there were many more corpses still buried beneath the snow. They continued to rise in a seemingly endless torrent.

The necromancers watched on in awe. The acolytes' jaws were hanging open beneath their robes. Malygos watched in grim satisfaction, as from all directions live blue dragons flocked to the scene, almost unable to believe what they saw. However, with reassurance from Malygos, both they and the loyal dragonspawn below stayed.

At last, with the sky all but blacked out by the dragons, the living and the dead, Narath collapsed to the cold snow in exhaustion. There was a mad rush as the necromancers rushed to support him. Malygos landed onto the ground in front of the Archnecromancer and outstretched a wing. The Aspect waved his head as if gesturing for Narath to get on. The Archnecromancer looked up in surprise.

"I am proud to bear your burden." Malygos said simply. 

Nodding his head weakly, Narath managed to climb onto the still gleaming body of the Aspect. Malygos then took to the air, and Narath felt the chilly breeze against his face. Looking down in amazement at how high they were, the Archnecromancer managed a laugh even in his tired state. Finding strength in this, Narath raised his voice.

"Now, servants of Ner'Zhul and the Spell-weaver, we are forced to flee this continent. But we will return!" 

The humans cheered as the dragons looked on with some apprehension. Suddenly, a low, hissing voice came from below.

"Lord! Do not leave without us!"

Below, three thousand dragonspawn stood, their scales and armor gleaming in the rays of light that pierced the cloud of frost wyrms. The Spell-weaver nodded, and at his command three thousand frost wyrms, barely a tithe of the swarm, flew down to carry a dragonspawn in its formidable claws. A few hundred live dragons flew down to the necromancers and acolytes and offered them their wings as the Aspect had done. 

_We did it_. Narath marveled, still in somewhat of a daze. _We actually did it_.

"Sleep, human." Malygos said softly, "You will need your rest."

As the other Scourge remnants took to the air, and the swarm of dragons headed out to sea, the Archnecromancer closed his eyes in content, glad that he hadn't failed his people as he had feared he would. Just before he drifted to sleep, he remembered murmuring a question to the Aspect.

"Where are we going?"

"To Lordaeron." Was the reply. Then all was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sil'Kan's theory was based on little more than legend and superstition. Still, it was the only idea he had, so he would take his chances with it. Still, if he were wrong, it would mean bad, bad things for the priest. The mission would be a failure.

The Old Gods did not like failure. 

Sil'Kan swallowed hard. His hope was that the stories he was told when he was very young were true. The elders of the village, hoping to impart what knowledge they could to the youths, had told them tales, many of which were about the blue dragons. If ever one should be felled, they said, it would fly back to a certain valley. There they could commune with the spirits of their deceased ancestors, who would prepare them for their passage into the afterlife. 

Surely, the great Leviathan who had fought in the fortnight's battle would attempt to rejoin its kin in that valley. This was, of course, assuming that the great disturbance had come from the dragon, and that it had made it to the valley. Two very big things to assume. Still, it was better than nothing. He hoped only that–

"How much further is it?" Ra'Anum buzzed, nearly making Sil'Kan jump out of his skin. He sighed and raised a hand to stop the berserkers behind him. Turning around he looked venomously at the Nerubian seer. Ra'Anum stared back, unabashed. He clicked his claws impatiently. "Well?"

"It be about a mile," Sil'Kan said, irritated. Ra'Anum snorted contemptuously, rolling his many eyes. He spoke again, his hissing voice laden with distaste.

"This surface world is so imprecise. I lived all my life in the tunnels, with exact measurements. Now up here, everything is unknown. There is precision, too much 'maybe' and 'almost' and 'about'. You surface dwellers could do with a bit of Nerubian architecture. We're brilliant at it."

Sighing at the spider's arrogance, Sil'Kan motioned him and the berserkers onward. To an outsider, it may have appeared that he was unaffected by the Seer's bravado, but in truth it troubled him. From what he had gathered, Ra'Anum had originally been a fragile and humbled soul, wishing only to lead his people out of the jaws of death. Now he was arrogant and full of himself. Was this what he would become, the leader of the Ice trolls? Would he turn into what Ra'Anum had? He hoped not.

Suddenly he heard this insistent voice of Azrael in the back of his mind, telling him to pick up the pace. The God sensed minds, though shrouded, near them, and they couldn't risk them being hostile. Wondering if perhaps he could see the creatures, Sil'Kan cast a glance around to the surrounding bluffs. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he caught sight of a swirling blue cloak, but when he tried to look closer, he found it gone. 

Shrugging it off, the priest dropped to the ground and slithered across the snow, the berserkers and the Seer following suit. Eventually the path sloped upward to become a bluff in itself, stuck out over a small dip in the land. Hoping to see what lay at the bottom, Sil'Kan clambered over to the edge, which became so narrow that only Ra'Anum could fit alongside him. The two champions of the Old Gods looked down, and with a gasp, saw what both had heard of only in legends: the Great Dragonblight. It was a massive graveyard that panned out for miles like an enormous cloth. Covering every inch of the snow was bone, each one the skeleton the Leviathans. 

Finally tearing his eyes away, Sil'Kan noticed a party of about two hundred, all humans, standing on a massive cliff to the east of them. At its forefront were two men, each bedecked in magnificent robes. Suddenly, one turned to the other and spoke.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

"Yesss," the other hissed softly. 

He had not noticed before, but each man held a staff. The man closer to him abruptly raised his into the air. As he did so, there was a sudden flash of brilliant blue light as the second man disappeared. In his stead was the massive creature whose death Azrael was quite sure had occurred: the Blue Leviathan almost the size of the cliff itself. The creature shut its massive eyes, and raw mana flowed over it like a magnificent suit of armor. 

The magic stuttered for a moment, but then latch on to the other man's raised staff as though it were electrically charged. Soon it flowed freely, cascading like a waterfall over the other man so he became nothing more than an orb of pure magic. There was a slight rumbling sound, and then a beam, bright red, contrasting with the sphere, emerged and hammered into one of the nearby skeletons. Two orbs of energy coagulated within the empty sockets, making—

"Eyes," Sil'Kan muttered.

As he watched, rotted skin spread between the skeleton's wingtips. Instilled with new life, it cocked its head at a slight angle, staring up at the massive dragon. The living Leviathan nodded to the dead, which promptly took flight. From where the skeleton had laid, the beam spread, becoming more of a bubble, which began to encompass the entire Dragonblight. One by one the skeletons rose, fueled by the man who acted as a conduit of the Aspect's power. Soon, the sky was all but blotted out by them.

"By the Gods," Ra'Anum whispered. "We've got to get out of here. If they see us…" he let the statement hang. Sil'Kan gulped and nodded. His masters had to know of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sil'Kan's news was grave indeed. 

If what he said was true, the remains of the Scourge could have resurrected the entire Dragonblight with the Aspect's power. The Tool of the Titans had returned to our enemy a viable force. There were hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of skeletons within that graveyard. With such air power, the Scourge could have destroyed us with little to no effort.

Except.

Except that the Elementals–now known as Revenants–had returned to us. Their worship was stronger than that of the Nerubians and Trolls, as the faith of the Elementals went back aeons, while the other's was newfound. They had rejuvenated us, increased our power to nearly half of what it had been at our height of heights. Together, we could form a protective barrier around Icecrown that no creature of this world could enter.

We knew that the Spell-Weaver would flee to the Southland, perhaps intending to warn the other Flights of the danger we posed. We would have to stop him, to prevent the gathering of a force that could decimate our armies.

And, without knowing it, he had afforded us an advantage, this Aspect. For though he thinks he is safe, we will be following him. We will track him to the distant land he hopes to escape to. For in those lands there were ancient creatures, mistakes made by the so-called perfect Titans. They were sealed away below the earth, just as we had been. Were we to free them, they would naturally join our cause.

We, who were once but a drop of rain, were becoming a flood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months earlier... 

Jennalla Deemspring's doeskin boots hit the ground softly, making almost no noise, belying the terror that pounded in her heart. Her breath came in short, quick gasps as she ran with a hundred nightmares at her heels. 

Jennalla was a ranger of Silvermoon. Not that mattered much now, as Silvermoon was now a sore on the land, oozing with the blight and corruption of the Scourge. She had been there at the battle of Silvermoon; the ranger had managed to evade death only by chance. Now, it seemed death had found her and intended to rectify its mistake. 

Now, due to her Elven grace and kinship with the forest, she made her way through the brush noiselessly although she was running at top speed. Her green cloak fanned out behind her, tangling in the branches. Finally a coherent thought entered her mind: _take off the cloak_. Fumbling with the clasp, she ripped the cloth away from her body, exposing her tanned skin to the cold night air. Soon the same branches were tearing holes in her uniform, but at least her flight wasn't being delayed any further. 

Abruptly the forest ended; in her blind panic, the Ranger didn't realize what happened, and in her bewilderment was snagged by a dead tree's root. Doing a complete flip, she landed violently on the ground, the wind knocked from her lungs and a gasp escaping her lips. Rolling over, she groaned and thought, _is there anything that doesn't work against you here? _

She lay there for several moments, knowing that her personal odyssey had finally come to an end. Her service to the Alliance during the second and third wars, her position as leader of the remains of Quel'Thalas, the newly forged agreement with the Silver Hand, it was all for nothing. She stared up into the cold, unforgiving Lordaeron sky, and a silent tear rolled down her cheek. 

Suddenly she heard the slow clip-clop of hooves; she lifted her head to see, emerging from the forest, a pale-skinned man with shoulder length white hair, atop what was once a horse, but now was an abomination of mismatched bones. At his side glittered a sword that glowed and pulsed with power, darkened with the blood of a thousand innocents.

From behind her Jennalla heard soft footsteps, sounding exactly like hers had as she made her way through the forest. She sat up and peered over her shoulder painfully to see a woman clad in a faded, gray-green cloak with silver hair and dead, blank skin, an enchanted bow at her side. Jenalla recognized her instantly.

"Oh, Sylvanas," she gasped, "What have they done to you?" the former Ranger ignored the living one's cry. Instead, she stared venomously at the mounted man, the haunted look of a tortured soul lingering in her eyes.

"Arthas," she said, her voice having an odd, echoing sound to it, "Is it really so important that we kill all of them? This one poses no threat to–"

"No threat? No _threat_?" he mocked, "This is a Ranger of Silvermoon! Of course she poses a threat, Sylvanas. You of all people should know that." 

Suddenly a malicious grin crossed the boy's face. It seemed an evil idea had just appeared in his mind.

"Since you seem to be so protective of your own kind," he said, "I think I'll let you...recruit her. Good luck, Ranger." He laughed, not specifying exactly whom he was talking to. Nudging his steed in the sides, he rode off back into the forest, still laughing. Sighing, the Ranger General of Quel'Thalas looked down at her former lieutenant. Reaching behind her back, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it. Pulling back the string and closing an eye, she aimed carefully.

"I don't enjoy doing this," she said sorrowfully, "I really don't. But it makes the voice stop, for a little while, at least…" she sighed and shook her head. Just before she let the arrow fly, Jennalla noticed that the tip was dripping with purple venom...then the bow twanged and Jennalla screamed as she felt the dark energies flow into her body, coursing through her veins. Clamping her eyes shut, tears welling up, she suddenly heard Sylvanas' voice. 

"I hope you never know torment like I have," She said. Jennalla opened her eyes. Her fellow Ranger's hands were twitching around the bow, as though itching to finish off the other elf. "That'll shut the voices up long enough." She muttered, as if trying to convince herself. Suddenly she spun around, and as if with great effort began walking back to the trees.

"Run…Jennalla…" she said, struggling to get the words out as she walked away, "Get...as far away...as you can...before...don't let him take you..." She let out a cry of pain. Jennalla stared at Sylvanas in dumb shock. "RUN!" she roared. Awakening from her trance, Jennalla stood up and stumbled, feeling the dark energies constricting her muscles. Reaching behind her, she yanked the arrow from her flesh with a cry of pain. Dropping it, Jennalla turned and ran, ran away from the symbol of the elves' failure. And even as she did, her fevered mind feared what the dark magic of the Scourge would do to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Notes:

ShadowedLight: Hey hey! You'll all be happy (or not) to know that you will be able to read this story at ShatteredEnigma.com as soon as the site is updated. Dark-Elk was nice enough to extend the offer. ^_^ Anyways, we finally got this update up. *whew* It is our longest chapter ever, so we really hope you enjoy (as if we don't with every chapter). And finally, to more important business: reviewer acknowledgements!

Queen of the Harpies, Thank you as always! I always personally saw the Old Gods as the villains of this fic, but I'm glad to know that there are varying perspectives. We're glad that you liked Malygos' rebirth; some of the other reviewers just didn't seem to understand that last scene of chapter 3 where the Aspect was raised from the dead.

randh13th, A page-turner? Why thank you! Oh, and about touching the plot, there's no need to apologize! We always encourage people to exercise their imagination and plot deciphering skills.

Warp da Warp Liger, Heheh, thank you! The last one _was long...but this one is a lot longer! Hope you like it._

Khellendros, Many thanks! It's gratifying to see other Narath fans. He's my favorite creation (right before Ra'Anum). It's also rare enough to find a fan with patience. Thank you again!

DARTH, eh...now had your flame been constructive at all I would have responded to it willingly. If it had any semblance of grammar or intelligence I might have dignified your very vulgar review the same way I dignified Kendrakthos' most ridiculous comments. However, since it lacks both, I'll just re-print your flame right here and let the other reviewers form their own opinions. I have edited out some foul language in here, as this is a PG fic: 

_"LOOK MOTHER F***ER NOW YOUR GOING TO FAR WHY DONT U KILL ALL THE OLD HEROS BASTARD AND SCREW OVER THE ENTIRE STORY LINE IF ALEXSTRA FALLS TO THE DRAGONS ARE SCREWED SHE IS THE DRAGON QUEEN FOR A REASON JUST REMEBER THAT" _

Truly an example of something, but I just can't place what it is. Anyways, any future reviews you have the nerve to submit will be removed immediately, no matter what its contents.

Jeshone, Wow! Us? Ernest Hemingways of Warcraft Fanfiction??? I might almost say that is too great a complement, but since I never turn down complements, I won't. Glad you like the fic, and sorry the Penguin King won't be making an appearance anytime soon.

demon_bright, Yeah, we do rock, don't we? j/k j/k. Eternity's little Sil'kan scene was really good, methinks. It's good to see someone rooting for the Old Gods, that's for sure. This is one fic where even we don't know if they'll succeed. ^_^

picies, Our apologies, but we enjoy changing the WC3 plot. We got a bit tired after seeing fic after fic of popular characters escaping tight situations...so we decided to shake things up a little! Anyhow, Malygos at least, as you can see, is still walking around. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

rabid fan, You're onto us! Eternity will keep singing his song, but he will never finish! Never! MWUHAHAHAHA! *ahem* More seriously, many thanks! We assure you that we will not hesitate to kill off characters in the future, but of course we do not do so needlessly. And yes, we were aware that we were going to receive flames and rants...but we don't really mind, unless those rants are from DARTH.

Rowan Seven, Thank you for the information! It's been a big help in planning the future of this fic. We are determined to see it through all of Azeroth, and naturally it is important to know about what happened to Kalimdor. We'll try to write that part with as few spoilers as possible though. And now to your review; The Penguin King apparently is content with winning dance competitions for now. Oh, my battle scene was a work of art? Why thank you! Those always take the most effort to write. And yes, I too am pleased with the direction Narath is taking, and we promise to make good use of Malgeron soon enough.

Kanadian, Uh, I am afraid you are mistaken my friend. We DO have a free reign to change the WC3 plot. We could make giant pigs come and step on Azeroth killing a bunch of people's favorite characters if we wanted. As for why we kill characters; cause we can and we want to. Anyways, if you or anyone wants to stop reading our story, you are really quite welcome to if you have a problem with characters not being invincible.  

reskellion, Welcome to the world of fanfiction! Kendrakthos really put us in our places didn't he? That "ingrate chipmunks" phrase almost killed us. We just couldn't laugh any harder without choking. Anyways, glad you like the story. If you really do know Kendrakthos in real life, do us a favor and jump him.

Lancer Davion, Glad you're impressed! Ra'Anum is going to play a big role, at least in the next few chapters. We assure you we won't let good characters go to waste. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Venomancer, Yes we do think that killing a character here and there makes it more realistic. As for not killing Narath, well...we won't be maliciously butchering him in the near future, but we can't make any promises. Things may change. However, I will say that we never kill a character without a good reason, even if it isn't apparent at first.

Eternity And A Half: These FEEEELINGGSSS....are making me...  
Oh, hi again. Well, since ShadowdedLight pretty much runs the show when it comes to Author's Notes, let me just thank all the reviewers. Thanks to everybody who reads...we love you! *begins sobbing like it's the academy awards, but stops at venomous look from SL*...ehm. Anyway, this is our longest chapter yet, totalling about 20 pages. Impressive, eh? It took no shortage of time and effort, so I dearly hope you all enjoy it. And trust me...there are more disagreeable deaths coming up...mwahaha. *puts on riot gear*. Anyways, please R/R! Thank you, I'm here all week.


	6. Pursuit of Darkness

Chapter V: Pursuit of Darkness

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ra'Anum shuddered and shut his eyes. Below him, the cold icy waves rushed by, the only thing to see for miles around, save for the occasional ice floe. Through his chitinous armor, the Nerubian seer could feel the chilly wind whipping at his face. He scowled. Nerubians were creatures of the earth, the underground. He was not meant to fly.

Suddenly he felt one of his armor plates, forged so carefully from his own shed hide, jostle and almost come off. Ra'Anum turned to look venomously at one of the four gargoyles charged with carrying him across the ocean. They stared back unapologetically with hungry eyes. The Nerubian seer hissed quietly to himself. The gargoyle's powerful talons were latched onto various vulnerable spaces between the armor places, and the nightmarish beasts were none too careful in their flight. 

Still, Ra'Anum was pleased to see the gargoyles at least stayed out of his face. This was most likely due the great sword set into his helm. The seer had taken Frostmourne as a token of his victory, but he had discovered that what remained of the cursed Scourge still feared their lord's blade. Superstitious fools. They still believed that the blade could steal souls. Ra'Anum had possessed Frostmourne for a while now, and had heard no voice in his head, no seductive offers or corruptive orders. No, any such power that the blade once held had died with its master. Still, its edge was sharp, and its mere presence inspired fear in foes and ferocity in allies.

Ra'Anum shook his head with boredom, and two of the gargoyles shrieked as Frostmourne passed near them. The Old Gods could make them carry Nerubians, but they could not quash the fear of their old master. Barely noticing the shrill cries of anger, Ra'Anum looked around him to keep from falling asleep. Almost completely filling the sky, gargoyles, single-minded in their purpose, each carried a minion of the Old Gods over the cold waters. Most of them required only one gargoyle to lift, as the other Nerubians had discarded their armor. There would be plenty of time to forge more upon arrival.

Looking away, Ra'Anum hissed. Filling another portion of the sky were the blue-skinned ice trolls. None of them carried weapons, as the Old Gods could always forge them more. Most of them seemed to be quite thin; obviously they had encountered famine. In fact, as the Nerubian seer examined the trolls, only one of them required two gargoyles to lift him.

Sil'Kan. Oh how Ra'Anum hated that beast. 

With bulked, flexing muscles, the troll priest looked to have twice as much meat on him as some of his people. Ra'Anum couldn't understand it; how could he eat while those that depended on him were hungry? To the seer's satisfaction, his heavy weight ensured him an uncomfortable ride as the gargoyles, each one latched firmly onto an arm, jolted back and forth, desperately drawing on the Old God's strength to keep the troll in the air. Sil'Kan, judging by the look on his face, wasn't pleased with the situation.

Ra'Anum hissed inwardly. It was quite obvious to the seer, who was well-trained in the arcane, that the priest held hostile thoughts towards the Nerubians. He was aware of what was said when Sil'Kan thought no one was listening, even sometimes what was thought when the trolls believed none but the Gods could listen. It infuriated Ra'Anum. If the priest had such beliefs, it was polite and customary for them to be outright. But the Nerubians had long since learned that the surface world was barbaric and primitive. It's denizens' every fiber was flawed and deceitful.

Had there been no Gods to account for, Ra'Anum would not have hesitated to have taught Sil'Kan civilization. From what the seer had gathered, Sil'Kan had once been a hungry priest of a famished village reduced to hunting bears. He had certainly made a dramatic transformation; he was now a conceited, gluttonous, wretched barbarian that feasted while his people starved. Ra'Anum sighed. As it was, the seer would have to consider that the Old Gods might not appreciate civil war within their ranks. Ra'Anum would do what was best for his people, personal reservations aside.

Shaking his head again to the dismay of the gargoyles, the Nerubian seer cast his gaze downwards. There, floating menacingly above the water, hovered several beings with authority over both Ra'Anum and Sil'Kan. With worn cloth robes, chain mail, heavy, decorated armor and impressive helms, the creatures looked to be from an age past that had outstayed their time. Which, in fact, they had. 

Ra'Anum shivered. Revenants. The silent, yet imposing beings chilled the seer whenever their unseen gaze swept over him. So far they had given the Nerubians and trolls much freedom, but through the Revenants the servants of the Old Gods felt the vindictive side of their masters. 

Shutting his eyes in an attempt to envision the dark, welcoming halls of Azjol-Nerub, Ra'Anum wondered where exactly they were headed. The Old Gods had told them little, only that there were peoples of another continent that would have to be conquered. Ra'Anum was pleased at this, if a little apprehensive. If the new continent, the one the Old Gods had called Lordaeron, could be made habitable, the Nerubian empire could not only revive, but spread far beyond the frozen north.

Slowly drifting off to sleep, Ra'Anum grinned as he heard Sil'Kan shouting at the gargoyles for twisting his arms. The seer knew that rest would be important, as there would soon be more important things to worry about than the trolls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind whipped painfully into Malgeron's eyes. The flight had heretofore been rather uncomfortable and uneventful; he was held precariously in the claws of one of the rotted dragon corpses—the frost wyrms. Its wings rose and fell with each mighty flap, vaulting him upward a few feet only to let him fall back, skimming but yards from the icy, glass-smooth surface of the unforgiving sea.

The leader of the Dragonspawn's head swum. If what Malygos said was true, and the Scourge had raised him from the dead, this could still be a clever trap. The undead, without their leader, would surely be desperate for any sort of advantage they could afford, even if it was simply using the Dragonblight to escape the confines of Northrend. They could be using the enslaved mind of the Spell-Weaver to manipulate the Blue Dragonflight. 

_Peace, Dragonspawn,_ a voice suddenly said inside his mind. _I was once part of the Scourge, but now, I am free. The Spell-Weaver speaks of his own accord, not by the whim of the Archnecromancer who raised him._

Jerking in the general direction the voice seemed to be coming from, Malgeron saw yet another frost wyrm, but this one was so large it dwarfed all the others save Malygos himself. It flapped its wings majestically and soared above the flock, the wind it created making the seawater spray high into the air. 

_Sapphiron?__ He asked, shocked, forgetting his respects. Realizing what he had done, Malgeron said apologetically, _Lord Sapphiron the Frost Heart? How is it you have come_…_?_ He found himself unable to finish as Malygos spoke. _

"I think we would all like to know that, my child," he said imperiously, "Come. Let us find a place to rest and hear the Frost Heart's tale. Undoubtedly there is much he has to say."

Suddenly the exhausted Archnecromancer rose to a sitting position on the Spell-Weaver's back. He rubbed his eyes groggily with the heels of his hands and said, "Is that really wise, Malygos? The Old Gods could come after us at any time." Silently the great blue dragon laughed.

"You have forgotten much in your slumber, human. We now control a great enough number of your frost wyrms to repulse any forces the Old Gods send after us."

Looking abashed, the Archnecromancer replied, "Very well then. But I will have them keep a constant vigil over—"

"Have you truly forgotten that much in your slumber, human?" Malygos asked quietly. Narath's mouth hung open for a moment. He shut it, embarrassed, and for a few seconds, there was an awkward silence. Finally the Archnecromancer responded.

"Of course, Malygos. _You_ should have them keep a constant vigil." 

The Aspect seemed mollified with his answer. Suddenly he banked his massive wings, making Narath scrabble for a handhold amongst the massive sapphire scales. The rest of the flock followed suit. From the watery horizon arose an ice floe. It was decently sized, but certainly not big enough for both Malygos and Sapphiron. Still, the Spell-Weaver seemed unconcerned as he landed on the floe, bending his wings downward so that Narath could safely descend. Then there was a flash of light, and where Malygos had been there was a human in a blue cloak with bright azure eyes gleaming from the shadow beneath the hood. Malgeron blinked; he hadn't known his lord to ever metamorphose in such a way, but when he thought about it, it made perfect sense for him to be able to do so.

The frost wyrm carrying Malgeron dipped low and brought him down to the floe, releasing him about a foot from the solid ice so that he fell with a dull thud. Then it returned to the skies to circle about the icy island with its fellows. Sapphiron emerged from the cloud of dragons, both living and dead, to roost opposite of Narath and Malygos. Malgeron galloped over to join them. He felt a bit strange being a full five feet taller than his god. Sapphiron looked down upon all three of them. He spoke now with words rather than thoughts, as there was no sound of rushing wind to steal speech away. 

"Before I begin my tale," the Frost Heart said cautiously, "I must ask you, Lord Malygos, why you, and several others, are bearing the burdens of Scourge warriors."

"It is a very long story which I don't particularly wish to tell right now," the man said; only then did Malgeron notice how old and frail his master looked in human form. "What has happened to you is much more important, Sapphiron. I will send you what you need to know in a dream during the night. Now tell us, what has happened to you since death?" 

Sapphiron sighed and bent low so that his face was even with the three of them. "It, too, is quite a long tale. Ah, but where to begin…

"The human prince, Arthas, after having made what use of me he could, ordered me to remain outside of the gates to Azjol-Nerub and wait for further instruction from the Lich King. Unable to do anything else, I stood there for days, still as a statue, until I heard his voice in my head, calling me to Icecrown…

"There I found Arthas and Ner'Zhul, merged, one in the same. He told me of my task: I was to be an enforcer of his will. A great honor, he told me. I would be purely responsible for overseeing the humans whom he did not directly control."

Narath knew this well; in month Ner'Zhul had been in power, which seemed like a very short time now, Sapphiron had been feared. In fact, the appearance of Sapphiron generally meant someone was going to die.  The great blue dragon sighed and continued on, Malgeron and Malygos listening intently.

"Then, one cold, frost bitten night, Ner'Zhul called me to his throne once again. I was to be given a new task. One of his generals who had been present at the takeover of the Forsaken—" Narath's eyes flashed at the mention of the Scourge rebels "—had been relocated to Kalimdor and had been put in charge of the holdings there, little more than a fortress on the coast of the barrens. That general was a Death Knight, similar to Arthas, by the name of Lord Maldazzar." 

Narath's eyes flashed again, though not with the same intensity this time. The name Maldazzar was well known throughout the Scourge hierarchy. It was common knowledge that even Ner'Zhul respected the shrewd brilliance in tactics and recklessness in battle of the Death Knight. However, there was a streak of independence in him that not even the Lich King could break. It was logical that he would send Sapphiron to try and control Maldazzar. Malygos waved his hand, signaling that Sapphiron should continue. 

"A few months after my vigil in Kalimdor began, about…let's see, two weeks before today, I heard the summonses of the Lich King once again. They were desperate—urgent. He ordered me to Northrend. I knew Maldazzar could travel with me, if no one else could. I implored him to come, but he refused. I should have killed him then and there, but the Lich King's calls were too pressing for me to waste time. I began my flight. 

"About halfway across the great sea, the cries of Ner'Zhul were suddenly silent, almost as if…as if he were gone. But no, that couldn't be…could it?" He looked at Narath, almost as though hoping to tell him it wasn't so. The Archnecromancer swallowed a painful knot in his throat. 

"I'm afraid it is, Sapphiron," he croaked. "The Lich King is dead. He was slain by a new enemy, as were all of his champions. Anub'Arak, Perenolde, Cho'Nammoth, they're all dead." For a moment, something that looked oddly like sorrow gleamed in Sapphiron's eyes. But Malgeron knew that couldn't be. Hadn't Sapphiron sworn loyalty to Malygos? Why would he be so distraught over Ner'Zhul's death? 

Abruptly the dragon began again.

"Without the Lich King's voice to follow, I heard only yours, Lord," he said, looking to Malygos. "I readjusted my path so that I would intercept you. And so I have. Tell me. Lord, where are we heading?"

"To Lordaeron," Malygos replied grimly. "It's certainly not the safest place in Azeroth right now, but at least there Narath's necromancers can use the blight plague to their advantage. Hopefully we can find some place where the rest of you will be safe while I warn Alexstrasza, Nozdormu and Ysera."

Sapphiron nodded. "We'd best be flying, then." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jennalla peered through the thick foliage and surveyed the woods carefully. She neither saw the rotting ghouls nor smelled them. The forest was also mercifully silent; no haunting screams of the forsaken reached her ears. For a moment Jennalla wondered if it had finally happened, if she had died. Then she shook her head. In the silence, she could hear her heart beating. Jennalla sighed and dropped to her knees. For the past three months she had waited for death...but it had not come.

She did not know what she was now. True, the wound given to her by Sylvanas wasn't fatal, but the poison should have done it. She had felt it pump through her veins, and had sobbed as it corrupted her body...but she never died. In a way she would have welcomed undeath, not stuck somewhere in between, her fate undecided. 

And that was just her problem. Her fate was undecided. She could not bring herself to join the Scourge and enter a life of servitude. She would not join the merciless forsaken without knowing she was dead. She couldn't return to her people, the few survivors of Quel'Thalas, for she was tainted, perhaps even undead. And she would not sell her services to highest bidder, like free undead elves had been known to do. No, that was not for her; she needed to believe in something to fight for it. 

But there was nothing left for Jennalla. Nothing but survival, her haunted memories, and what little she understood of herself. What she did know was all depressing to her. For instance, she had once given up eating, hoping for an end of some sort. But she had found that her body, like those of the undead, required no food. She also had found that she possessed unnatural strength, and seemingly limitless endurance. This might seem like a good thing, but alien talents like those only intensified Jennalla's feeling of being unclean.

What Jennalla was grateful for, at least, was that she still retained her free will. Even the undead outside of the Lich King's control were said to have their personalities eaten away until nothing remained but a twisted soul. It was difficult for Jennalla to imagine, much less remember that she had once been a happy and carefree ranger in the bright woods of Quel'Thalas. Life had been so good, so good.

Even after Quel'Thalas fell, Jennalla had led her people from the ruins with hope of finding a new homeland. They had met with a group of knights of the Silver Hand, and had forged an agreement to protect each other's survivors. A large cluster of villages had been hastily erected, and refugees from all around the war-torn continent gathered there, and had began to rebuild their shattered lives. For a while, everything went well, and an exodus was planned to move to safer lands. The few feeble undead forces sent against them were easily repelled by the joint forces. 

Until Arthas returned. The Silver Hand received word of the dark prince's arrival, and had swiftly prepared to evacuate the refugees. Jennalla and her elven followers were eager to uphold their pact, and had taken their position on the front lines...but the undead struck too quickly, and in numbers far too vast. In a three pronged attack that surrounded the villages so as to block the refugee's escape, the Scourge had poured in from all sides, slaughtering all in their path.

Jennalla had stood strong and fought all she could. Her presence alone calmed elves and human alike who would have otherwise fled or let their shots go awry. But in the end, Jennalla's forces were routed, and she was hunted down…but not killed. Again Jennalla sighed, her heart heavy but still beating steadily. Always beating. Jennalla had almost come to hate that sound.

She had remained in the tainted woods close by the battlefield where she had failed, and the refugees were slaughtered. The battlefield where she had stared into Sylvanas' eyes, and saw the torment and despair within. She had never decided out what to do since, and so had remained, unseen, like a ghost, through repeated clashes between the now freed Sylvanas and the Scourge. Jennalla's heart had soared with hope when she had overheard a conversation about the "Dark Lady", when she was prowling the woods around an undead camp. But after having seen what the forsaken, her former comrades and kindred, were willing to do, the former ranger had sunk deeper into despair than ever.

Shaking her head and rising to her feet, Jennalla wiped away a lonely tear from her face and began to ponder the situation. The undead had seemed to be slacking off in recent days. The former ranger wondered why. Was there something she didn't know about? If there was, she would have to know about it. Sighing, Jennalla strode silently through the trees, wondering where it would all end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kel'Thuzad sighed. This was action would have once been unusual to him, but it seemed he did it more and more frequently as of late. He had remained in Lordaeron while Arthas had ventured to Northrend. He had remained, trying to make sure that this paradise of death was kept under the Lich King's rule.

However, this task had become more and more difficult. In the beginning, the Nathrezim Balnazzar and his brothers, Varimathras and Detheroc, had defied Arthas' rule and staged a coup, which was successful in driving the Death Knight away from the throne of Lordaeron. Then, to compound matters, the ranger Sylvanas had betrayed them and nearly brought an end to Arthas' life once and for all. However, completely loyal to his king, Kel'Thuzad was able to confront Sylvanas and her banshee servitors, saving Arthas from a painful death. 

He had seen Arthas off, sailing towards Northrend. Remaining with him was a meager force, mostly ghouls and necromancers. Still, Kel'Thuzad had endured until reinforcements arrived from Northrend. His troops raided graveyards and gathered corpses to increase the Scourge presence, and for a while Kel'Thuzad's forces had repeatedly clashed with the Forsaken, scoring mostly victories.

Until the day he heard the Lich King no more.

He had been meditating at the time. Ner'Zhul's voice had faded before, when the Frozen Throne had begun to leak power, but this time, it was…different. The Lich King's voice had stopped altogether, leaving him in complete silence for a few moments. Then, suddenly, there had been a backlash of psychic energy so strong that it knocked him out within a few seconds.

When the Lich awoke, the encampment he had resided at was leveled, and his surviving forces were in disarray. Knowing that the power he had unleashed would surely draw Sylvanas' attention, he had rallied together his still sizeable forces and fled.

And so here he stood, two weeks after then, on a ridge overlooking what had once been Alterac, an alliance nation that had betrayed them during the second war. Even the Scourge dared not venture here. The last beings to set foot on its blasted remains were agents of the Kirin Tor, who had sifted through the ashes to find the spellbook of Medivh. So, the Lich had decided it would make a decent enough place to hide from the agents of the Dark Lady. Making decisions still felt odd to him; before, the Lich King had dictated his every action. Now, without the voice to guide him, he was left to lead the Scourge of Lordaeron. This was a pressing problem, as it drained Kel'Thuzad greatly to keep mental control over the undead.

He turned to look at the lieutenants that stood behind him, most of them necromancers; many of their ghoul foot soldiers had been lost to the Forsaken.

"Go down into the city," he ordered, never letting the strain show in his voice. "Begin exhuming the graveyards. We'll set up our new base here. To do so we'll need to bolster our forces, and corpses should be abundant here." the necromancers muttered indistinct sounds of agreement and began making their way down the slopes.

Kel'Thuzad turned back to stare sightlessly down into the ashes below. He knew that there were others like him scattered throughout the world; there was at least one other he knew of—Lord Maldazzar, the rogue Death Knight, had been promoted to a high post after the battle of Icecrown. Kel'Thuzad had learned that the Death Knight had headed west, to Kalimdor. That was the last the Lich had heard of him. 

Heaving one final sigh, he spun around and followed the trail his necromancers had taken down to the city. If worst came to worst, he could flee the continent and attempt to enlist Maldazzar's aid. 

He dearly hoped it would not come to that. No one worked with the arrogant Death Knight if they could avoid it. Still, he had sworn that his king's legacy would endure, and he would uphold that vow no matter how he had to do it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ra'Anum was rudely jostled awake. Looking around confused for a moment, he saw strange trees and a sharp blue sky. His head spinning, he wondered where he was and how he got there. Then suddenly the ugly blue face of a troll bent down to grin at the seer. Sil'Kan, Ra'Anum realized, and suddenly his memory came rushing back. Heaving himself to his feat, the Nerubian seer glared at the priest, furious that he had been caught in such an embarrassing pose. The troll's smile stretched even wider, serving to infuriate Ra'Anum even further. 

"What is so amusing, Ice Troll?" The Nerubian seer spat, barely keeping the rage out of his voice.

"Why, Anum," Sil'Kan replied smoothly, "I was merely reflecting on j'our armor and how j'ou like to be so...precisssse."

Ra'Anum turned his head to look at himself, no easy feat for the Nerubian. As he looked, he saw immediately what the troll was talking about. The armor plates had been jostled out of place by the gargoyle claws, and deep scratch marks showed in the once-spotless set of armor. Some of the smaller pieces were actually hanging off the Nerubian's large frame, revealing dull exoskeleton. Hissing in vexation, the disheveled-looking seer glared up at the four gargoyles hovering just out of reach. Two of them, he noticed, were making unpleasant noises that amounted to the gargoyle equivalent of laughter.

"Thank you for informing me so…politely." Ra'Anum growled sarcastically as he turned back to face Sil'Kan.

"Mosst welcome, insect."

Ra'Anum stiffened at the derogatory term. "Well, barbarian, at least we _have armor to ruin!" _

Sil'Kan's eyes narrowed. "We will settle this someday."

"Why wait?" Ra'Anum hissed.

The Nerubian tossed his head, causing Frostmourne to shimmer in the bright Northrend sun. Sil'Kan withdrew two polished axes from large pouches around his waist and bared his teeth. The warriors eyed each other warily as their followers gathered around in a circle, shouting and hissing encouragement.

**_Enough._****__**

Quite suddenly all shouting ceased. Both troll and Nerubian stood still at the sound of their master's voice. As they waited, five Revenants glided over the crowd to land in a pentagram around the two leaders. As they moved, they spread awe and fear in their wake, and even the bravest troll hunters and the most tenacious Nerubian warriors quailed. The presence of the Revenants alone would have headed off any conflict, but the voice continued.

**_Competition is good. It will inspire the each of you to outdo the other. But we will not have open infighting within our ranks._**

"Apologies, masters." Ra'Anum said loudly, still glaring venomously at his adversary.

"Yess, we be sorry masters!" Sil'Kan declared hastily, retuning the glare.

**_Show that you are. Or there will be much to answer for._**

Ra'Anum bent his body to the ground in a Nerubian bow. The rest of his folk quickly followed suit, with the Ice Trolls hastily attempting to mimic them. The voice of the Old God, meanwhile, rambled on.

**_There is much to be done. The Scourge and its dragon allies have landed on these shores as well. We sense also new enemies here, ones that will have to be dealt with quickly._**

At this Ra'Anum lifted his head curiously. "What sort of enemies?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sylvanas felt…different.

That was the only way she could describe it: different. Not better or worse, but not the same, either. Like something inside her had disappeared, leaving something vulnerable in its absence. She hadn't been able to put her finger on it. But still, much had changed, so how could she not feel different? 

Lordaeron was now firmly within her grasp; Without Garithos to guide them, the human city at the ruins of Dalaran was destroyed. Well, not destroyed, per se, but rather possessed. One by one her army of banshees had taken the minds of the humans within the ruined walls. By the time the remaining survivors figured out what was going on, it was too late. From there, it had been easy to route out whatever opposition remained to the rule of the Banshee Queen, of which there wasn't much. 

Her forces has since been amassing, and her apothecaries scrambling to create an new plague of sorts, one that would spread to both the living and the dead, taking their minds from Ner'Zhul's control. Such a plague would be essential in the assault on Northrend. There had never been any doubt that this was what she must do, in the end. Her torment would not cease until the one who had enslaved her was dead.

Still, these new feelings unsettled her. What had changed? And the dreams…dreams of slimy, purple creatures brandishing clubs, flowing over endless plains of white snow, spilling over mountains. They haunted her sleep every night now…what was the matter with her?

"Lady Sylvanas," a soft, insidious voice said. The Dark Ranger opened her eyes, shaken from her meditations. Standing in the doorway with two necromancer guards was her Nathrezim lieutenant, Varimathras. Slowly the Banshee Queen rose to her feet from the cold stone floor of her chambers. 

"What is it, Dreadlord?" She asked.

"The coastal fortifications to the north are reporting a…peculiarity."

She stared at him for a moment.

"What sort of…peculiarity?" 

The Nathrezim shrugged. "The messenger did not say. Only that it was imperative that you come immediately." Sylvanas frowned. What could be coming from the north that–?

_Ner'Zhul__._

That had to be it. Ner'Zhul had come to reclaim his lost servants. Only Northrend, the roof of the world, was above Lordaeron. She knew the terrifying fury of the Lich King—she had seen it first hand in Quel'Thalas. 

"Milady?" Varimathras asked. Waking from her thoughts, the Dark Lady looked him in the eye.

"Lead the way," she said in a dry whisper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Narath's eyes snapped open suddenly. It was not noise that had awoken him, but rather, the absence of it. He had been sleeping on Malygos' back once more after hearing Sapphiron's tale. He had grown almost accustomed to the rushing wind, and in his exhaustion, he had even managed to sleep among it. But now that ever-present roar was gone, replaced with an eerie, unsettling silence. The Archnecromancer clambered to his feet. 

"Where are we, Malygos?" he said, peering around. They had landed, clearly, and the entire flight was perched around them. They sat in a large clearing among many snow-tipped pines, and the scent of life, so absent on Northrend, flooded Narath's nostrils.

"We have reached Lordaeron," the proud voice of the Spell-Weaver said. "We have landed in the forest you call 'Silverpine'." Narath scrabbled over the hills of sapphire scales until he stood atop Malygos' head. The Aspect looked up at him, a bit indignant, but raising no objections. 

"What do we do now?" the Archnecromancer asked hoarsely. "What are our plans?"

"I do not know," the dragon responded. "I am sure of what I must do, but it will require me to leave. I fear for your safety amongst the land of your enemies. Do you have any allies you could call upon to give you asylum?"

Narath thought for a moment. "Kel'Thuzad," he muttered. "If he still lives, he will give us sanctuary. I can try to contact him telepathically."

"Do it," Malygos responded.

Narath fell into a sitting, meditative position and concentrated hard. He sent out his call, attempting to confer with the Lich.

_Kel'Thuzad,_ he said, _are__ you there? Do you still live?_

He waited for a moment, but then a response, barely more than a mental whisper, came to him.

_I am here. Whom is it that I speak with?_

I am a necromancer, by the name of Narath Arcanis. You will not have heard of me; I was not of great stature in the Lich King's forces. I need you to know of this, great Lich: our king, Ner'Zhul, is dead.

He let the idea sink in for a moment, but then continued on. 

What remains of Ner'Zhul's army has arrived here in Lordaeron. We are not safe where we are, however. Can you help us in any way?

_Yes, _Kel'Thuzad responded almost instantly, _Come to the ruins of Alterac. I will provide you with whatever passes for safety on this continent._

Thank you, great Lich. We will be there before sundown.

Narath opened his eyes, cutting off the psychic connection.

"Well?" the Aspect asked.

"We can go to Kel'Thuzad," He said, slightly dazed. "He seems to be within the ruins of a nation that once belonged to the Human Alliance."

Malygos nodded, causing Narath to slip down a few feet.

"I will leave the flight in your command. Fear not, I will return before the next moonrise." 

Narath sighed. "As you say, Malygos." The dragon bent his wings downward, and Narath walked over and began climbing down, using the grooves between the scales as handholds. Waiting at the bottom was Malgeron.

"We will be going with you as well, necromancer," he said. "I hope we can be of service."

Narath nodded wearily and looked up at Malygos, who spread his gargantuan wings, and with a single flap that blew the snow off the nearby pines, was airborne. Within seconds, he had disappeared over the horizon.

Looking back at the flight, he saw Sapphiron step forward awkwardly. Clearly, dragons were not creatures of the ground.

"I will gladly bear you both," he said, "But we must make haste. You and I both know the ferocity of the Forsaken, Narath. We will not be safe for long."

Narath smiled grimly. "We'd best be flying, then." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kel'Thuzad glided smoothly over the scattered rubble. The setting sun cast an eerie red glow over the Alterac ruins, and the Lich found it strangely fitting for the occasion. Trying to keep his fallen King from his thoughts, Kel'Thuzad remembered why he was there and began looking around the rubble. Alongside him prowled a small escort of five ghouls, clumsily tripping over the stone masonry. Amazing, the Lich thought as he gazed at a large ornamental pillar. No matter how long it took to build things, it took only a moment to destroy them. 

"That one. Take it." Kel'Thuzad said, gesturing towards the pillar.

Immediately the five ghouls, guided by his will, dashed to the pillar and hoisted it onto their backs. Then, slowly, they began to drag the pillar over to a clearing in the rubble where a number of acolytes were waiting. There, miscellaneous rubble and wood had been arranged together in the approximate shape of a citadel, though there was not yet enough material to complete it. Throughout the ruins, other ghouls and skeletons busied themselves by picking out the most undamaged pieces they could find.

Already two small ziggurats and a temple had been constructed. They were none too elegant, to be sure, but the Alterac stone was good, and the new base would resist attacks. That, for now, was all that mattered. Kel'Thuzad meandered towards an especially large pile of rubble. As he looked around, the Lich could see necromancers scouring the ruins for corpses. Occasionally one of them raised his staff, and from the ground would burst a skeleton. The strain on their faces was evident; they too were tasked with controlling the minds of their charges.

Kel'Thuzad sighed and drifted to the top of the hill. Those who watched the Lich closely could see that his normally elegant posture was drooping, for his mind was the heaviest it had been since he was a frustrated mage of the Kirin Tor. The strain of controlling his own servitors had been compounded by the latest news delivered by the obscure necromancer. It was not unexpected, but it was shocking nonetheless.

Try as he might, Kel'Thuzad could not imagine any force powerful enough to destroy the Lich King, certainly not so suddenly and without warning. The Lich would have pressed the necromancer for more information, but from his voice Kel'Thuzad had gathered that the necromancer was in need of haste, and did not delay his travel any further. If an obscure necromancer was in charge, and able to keep his forces under control, then very little must have survived the battle of Northrend. Certainly not enough to survive the Forsaken for long.

Kel'Thuzad sighed. Whatever miniscule aid the remnants of the Northrend force could offer would still be useful, but it was information that the Lich was after. What had happened? How had the King he had so admired fallen so…unfulfilled? Kel'Thuzad sighed again. It would be at least a day before the necromancer and his forces could make it inland. Until then, they would have to–

Suddenly Kel'Thuzad saw something on the horizon. A dark shape silhouetted by the blood-red sun. What was it? Whatever it was, it was big, very big. Where those wings? Not quite sure if he was seeing correctly, Kel'Thuzad turned his head and mentally called to one of his necromancers. The man came shuffling over wearily.

"Yes master?"

"Do you see that? On the horizon?"

The necromancer shaded his eyes and looked. Then he let out a gasp and his jaw slid open. Kel'Thuzad looked again, and what had only a moment ago been one shadow had become many. It was as if a giant cloud of dark shapes were approaching. Transfixed by the ominous sight, Kel'Thuzad did not move until the leading shadow, the largest of them all, came close enough to identify.

"Frost wyrms!" The Lich exclaimed.

"Frost wyrms? Impossible! There aren't that many frost wyrms in all of Azeroth!" The necromancer insisted.

But as the shapes drew closer, it became obvious that they were indeed massive, skeletal dragons. Their eerie, frightening cries could be heard now, and the other necromancers had hurried to the hill to see what was going on. Some were optimistic, but others were apprehensive. Who knew what to expect these days? And without the Lich King, it would take a very formidable mind to control that many frost wyrms.

The cloud of dragons gathered into a massive swarm overhead. Then, suddenly, a group of surprisingly live dragons swooped down to the ground. From their backs leapt a number of necromancers and acolytes. Who looked shaken by their journey, but fanned out in a circle and looked up expectantly as if awaiting their leader.

And sure enough, from the dark cloud came forth a massive frost wyrm that dwarfed all the others. Blue scales and rotted flesh still clung to its massive frame, and the burning blue eyes made it clear to Kel'Thuzad who the frost wyrm was.

"Sapphiron!" The Lich exclaimed.

"Yes, Lich, but the one who leads us is upon my back."

Sapphiron bent his body lower to allow a young necromancer to climb down. As he did so, Kel'Thuzad noticed that he unclenched his claw to release something that was unmistakably one of the dragonspawn that he had studied during his time with the Kirin Tor. The necromancer stepped down onto the hard ground awkwardly, and faced the Lich.

"Well met, Kel'Thuzad." He said, bowing.

"Well met indeed. I presume it was you that I spoke to earlier today?"

"Yes." The necromancer nodded.

"Well then, we undoubtedly have a lot to discuss. But first, I fear that you may have drawn undue attention to us."

"Of course." The necromancer said, then turned to the frost wyrm. "Sapphiron, do you mind?"

"Not at all." Sapphiron spread his wings wide and took off into the air again.

Kel'Thuzad thought this exchange curious. It was almost as if the necromancer were asking the frost wyrm to carry out his orders. His thoughts must have been evident, for the necromancer looked at him strangely and spoke again.

"You were correct, great Lich. We have much to discuss."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through the eyes of Ra'Anum and Sil'Kan we watched. Azrael, though his power had waned over such distance, was quite sure he felt the minds of the Scourge remnants on a continent southward of our own. Some of our Revenants had been there before they heard our summons; from what we could glean from their nearly vacant minds, it was called "Lordaeron". A nation taken over by a rogue sect of Undead that called themselves the "Forsaken." Though the ancient mistakes of the Titans lay still further south, the only way we could reach that land was through that which the Scourge had fled to. 

Our orders to the Trolls and Nerubians were simple: destroy anything you can. Though our forces were not at full bulk as they should have been, the tireless gargoyles were making their return trip to ferry the Faceless across the sea. We were not ready for a full assault on the Forsaken, just yet. 

But soon.

We knew our arrival had been detected by these Forsaken. That was planned, merely to draw out their leader, Sylvanas. At this very moment she is traveling through the forest, the perfect place for an ambush. Our servitors will catch her unawares, and sever the head of the Forsaken. Few things in this land could go wrong.

We had made an unpleasant discovery, however. The land in which the creatures we sought to convert was inhabited. These beings were the corrections of the Titans, meant to keep watch so that their fouler brethren would never emerge from the cold recesses of the earth. There were so many enemies to deal with. This world had become a very crowded place during our long imprisonment. 

No matter. Every race that had ignored us would soon pay the price. We had grown strong now, and were completely protected within the confines of Icecrown. None could pass our barriers. None could hope to win a victory against us. 

We had lost once to the Titans. We had no intention of repeating the experience. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sapphiron cast his eyes about the corrupted land below, cast into an ominous, blood red hue by the setting sun. The temperate climate was unusual to him. In his life he had known only extremes: the bone-numbing cold of Northrend and the blistering heat of the Barrens. 

He circled around the Lordamere Lake a few times, vaguely wondering why he was doing it. The Forsaken dared not tread near the City of Traitors, this corpse of a nation within the corpse of another. Baron Perenolde, the lord of that ruin below, had answered the Lich King's call and had become one of the Scourge's greatest Death Knights. He was one of the guardians of Icecrown, along with Anub'Arak, Cho'Nammoth, and Fearoth, a Dreadlord that had fallen under Ner'Zhul's psychic domination.

Flapping his wings, the ancient wyrm thrust himself out into the dusky sky, now beginning to be consumed by the inky night. He felt…different. Not better or worse, per se, but…different. Though Malygos had been his true lord and master, the Lich King was something different all together. In the service of Ner'Zhul, one was never alone.

Now, Sapphiron felt more alone than ever. 

Listening to the creak of his skeletal wings as he flapped, the dragon suddenly remembered that his duty was to scout, for Sylvanas' forces would surely have noticed hundreds of thousands of frost wyrms entering the vicinity. Seeing no enemies in the immediate area, Sapphiron banked west, flying back towards the Silverpine forest. Spotting a river below him, the Averass, he suddenly dropped downward. He knew he was neglecting his duties, but for once, he didn't care. He glided over the glassy surface of the lake, scooping up many fish in his skeletal maw. He wanted to taste them, to feel the satisfaction of a good meal, to feel re-energized, just to feel alive.

But he felt nothing. The fish slipped out between the gaps in his ribs, reminding him that he was _not_ alive. He landed on the banks, thinking of what an abomination he was—an undead creature with no Lich King was like a wolf in a leaderless pack: lost and without purpose. 

He landed on the banks, hoping to see some flesh on his vacant bones, but still he only saw a portrait of death staring back at him in the water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sil'Kan slipped through the forest gracefully. Trolls were naturally silent hunters, and even the Ice variety, more used to treading lightly over the snow rather than stalking through the woods, were able to move without breaking a twig. Though their appearance was savage, their grace could be matched only by the elves. 

The troll priest stopped and sniffed. The woods here stank of humidity and rot. Having been well acquainted with the stench of undeath, Sil'Kan was not overly bothered by that aspect of the plaugelands. However, it was far too warm for the Ice troll's liking; it made their skin itch and breath clammy. However, the foul climate was not enough to deter their purpose.

Unseen, the trolls pressed further through the scarred forest. The place they were supposed to look for, this Undercity, had to be close by. For the further they walked, the more haunted the trees looked. Sil'Kan paused and sniffed the air again. He hissed quietly; he had caught that scent again.

Suddenly the silence was shattered as a great rustling filled the forest. It appeared as though the bushes were alive and shaking, and from the underbrush lumbered the Nerubian seer, Ra'Anum, along with fifty of his kindred. They had done well to keep low to the ground, like insects, for without Sil'Kan's sense of smell one could never tell what was causing the disturbance until it was too late. But under the present circumstances, the enemy knowing that anything was moving could be disastrous. 

"Seer, joo are not needed. J'our peoples be too noisy. Ja undead know we comin frum a mile away."

Ra'Anum looked at Sil'Kan contemptuously. "You believe that the few of your kind who made the trip can win alone?"

Sil'Kan hissed. The insect had a point; the gargoyles could only carry so many Ice Trolls at a time, and the fifty trolls he brought with him to the forest would never be enough to fight the Forsaken head on. He had only one real option with his numbers; a quick surgical strike. Bury a half-dozen axes into the Dark Lady, then flee before her guards figured out what was going on. The Nerubians, Sil'Kan thought, had no sense of strategy at all.

"Ve have a plan Anum. Ve need no more than ve have." Sil'Kan said.

Ra'Anum cocked his head, and Frostmourne titled to reflect the setting sun. "As do we. But we will try your way first. I hope for your sake that you do not fail the Gods."

Sil'Kan sneered, and spun around. He'd teach that bug a lesson. The 'Dark Lady' would never know what hit her. The rustling of the Nerubians faded and then fell silent. Sil'Kan grinned. With only the faint stirring of leaves to indicate that his kin were on the move, the troll priest paused to sniff the air yet again. There was moisture up ahead. That would be the lake the Revenants had instructed them to find, the rendezvous point where they would meet with the Revenants. From there it would be easy to reach the path where the Dark Lady was supposed to be traveling.

The trolls continued through the forest, following the occasional bird calls of their leader. Finally, after traveling for an hour, Sil'Kan emerged from the trees to see the surface of the perfectly still lake. Marveling at how the waters of this strange land mirrored so perfectly, the priest swiftly scanned the banks of the lake-

-and saw a massive, skeletal dragon hunched over the water. It's size was so great that Sil'Kan had originally taken it for a strangely shaped cliff. But on further examination, it was actually a frost wrym of such size that Sil'Kan thought it was the massive being he had encountered above the dragonblight. But no, that creature had still had its flesh and scales intact, while most of the enormous being in front of him was merely pearly skeleton reflecting the pool.

Sil'Kan froze, and silently removed a pair of axes from his pouch. From behind him he could sense that his kin had emerged from the forest as well. The frost wyrm could prove to be a great problem, perhaps even the deaths of them all, if it turned around. Sil'Kan could feel his body tense and his heart begin to race. Still the frost wyrm did not move. Could they perhaps turn around and flee? No. They could not abandon the mission so easily.

And just then, as if knowing of the troll's plight, five revenants emerged from the shadows of the trees. Silently drifting over the ground they moved behind the frost wyrm and pointed their staffs at the undead dragon. Then, as the frost wyrm began to stir, their voices, so like those of their gods, sounded inside the troll's heads.

**_Attack!_**

Immediately a hundred axes hurled through the air. Suddenly realizing he had been ambushed, Sapphiron immediately ducked to the ground. Most of the axes sailed over his head, but the sound of axe meeting bone was clear to all. Spreading his wings wide, the massive frost wyrm prepared to take flight...

As fire, ice, lightning, wind, and death itself pounded into his skeletal frame. Roaring in fear and rage, Sapphiron spun around and opened his jaws wide. A burst of brilliant blue frost engulfed the Revenants…and dispersed harmlessly to reveal matching blue clouds of frost surrounding the Revenants. The trolls quickly rearmed themselves and hurled another volley of axes into the frost wyrm. The blades tore through rotting skin like paper, and chipped off bits of bone. Sapphiron roared again and swatted the Revenants with his wing. Finally taking to the air, the skeletal dragon turned his head and fired a parting blast at the trolls below.

Ducking for the cover of the trees, Sapphiron had a clear shot at escape. The Revenants, seeing this, determinedly gathered themselves again and floated through the air after the frost wyrm. Storm clouds began to gather over Lordamere lake, and bolts of lightning began to rain from the sky. The waters below, once calm and serene, began to lash out with furious waves, as if angrily reaching for the skies above. Sapphiron evaded the fury of the elemtns and the attacks of the Revenants that pursued him, and began to flap his wings more vigorously.

Then a wall of wind crashed into him, suddenly and without warning. Struggling to fight against the powerful force that was pushing him back towards the Revenants, he dived too low and a gigantic wave swept over him. The Revenants gathered around the spot where the frost wyrm vanished, gazing at the furious waters just as patient as ever. Sure enough, Sapphiron emerged from the waters with anger and sorrow in his eyes, even as larger, darker waves swept up to claim him. Flailing in all directions, the skeletal dragon never noticed the Revenants gathering around him.

The Death Revenant gave him a painless end, but Sapphiron's dying screams reached far and wide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sylvanas shuddered. What was that sound? It had been brief, indistinct, yet it chilled her to the bone. Her guards, it seemed, had also heard it. They paused for a moment, apprehensive. After a few moments had passed, they shrugged it off and continued on their way. Sylvanas meanwhile, had returned to her dark thoughts. If the Lich King had sent Arthas back, she knew he would stop at nothing to pay her back for how she humiliated him. But she was determined to return the favor.

Her forces perhaps were not as large as what Ner'Zhul could send against her, and having to deal with both Kel'Thuzad and Arthas at the same time would be a problem. For a while now the Scourge had seemed to be withdrawing their forces. Now it was apparent why. Sylvanas shook her head. Beating the Scourge would be difficult, but if they only survived long enough for the new plague to finish…

The costal outpost came into sight. Built in a clearing set on a high cliff, the outpost was able to gaze far out to sea. It had been constructed for occasions just such as this. As Sylvanas and her escort arrived, an undead man hurried over to her.

"Milady." He said hurriedly, bowing low. "There seem to be-"

"It's Ner'Zhul, isn't it?" Sylvanas cut him off.

The man looked at her surprised. "No my lady."

Now this was surprising. What could come from the north that required her personal attention?

"This had better be good." She snapped.

"Yes milady, it is a pressing concern of a most peculiar nature. I believe it would be best if you saw for yourself." The man bowed, offering her a scope.

Sylvanas snatched it from his hands and climbed up the ladder. As she settled herself on the platform, her hands brought the scope to her eyes. What she saw next shocked her like nothing else could have.

The sky was filled with gargoyles, gargoyles everywhere. That was not unusual for a Scourge invasion, but the creatures were all carrying strange slimy…things in their talons. What were those? The appeared to have tentacled faces, and looked eerily identical to each other. There was a seething mass of them on the beach too, along with what looked like trolls of some sort and brightly colored crypt fiends. Wait…this was familiar to her. But from where? _My dreams. She thought, as fear began to squeeze her motionless heart. Desperately brushing off the feeling, she searched for a logical explanation. It was definitely not a Scourge task force, so who could have assembled such an army and why?_

As Sylvanas pondered the question, more gargoyles landed and dropped their loads onto the beach. They just seemed to keep coming. As the Dark Lady raised her head again, it had seemed like the mass of purple creatures had doubled. Then something struck her. These things were not friendly. Somehow, perhaps from those dreams, she knew they were not friendly. And she knew they would not be bargained with. Her throat constricted with fear as she watched the mass grow. Finally unable to look anymore, Sylvanas climbed down the ladder as fast as she could.

"Milady, what should we do?" The man was back again.

Looking at him confused, she opened her mouth. The voice that came out sounded like hers, and seemed to reflect her thoughts. Yet somehow she felt as if it were someone else making her speak. The feeling was oddly familiar, yet so unplaceable. For a moment she wondered if she were going crazy. But crazy or no, she spoke anyway.

"Head back to the Undercity. Prepare to flee."

Her guards looked at her confused. This was most uncharacteristic of their leader. Sylvanas stood there for a moment, waiting. Then she screamed.

"Are you deaf and dumb? Move!"

The undead moved. _That_ was more like the Dark Lady. As the procession made their way back towards the Undercity, a strange wind kicked up. It avoided all the guards and stirred Sylvanas' cloak. And as she walked, Sylvanas thought she could hear a voice in the wind.

_doom_. It whispered. _doom_. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ShadowedLight: Hey hey! No matter how hard we try, our chapters just keep getting longer. It's weird. Anyways, this is, obviously, our longest chapter ever. Again. Anyways, if you guys want good writing as well as hints to what's gonna happen in The Forgotten Ones, please go read the companion story "If Only to Escape" written by Queen of the Harpies. It's really good. On another note, since Thanksgiving break starts today, me and Eternity are going to be giving thanks and resting all week long. Please don't shoot us. That means no updates until after Monday. *Gets shot* Ow. Eternity, you'd better do the reviewer acknowledgements today.

Eternity and a Half: Hey, I'm doing the authors' notes this time around? Huzzah! Well, first I just wanted to thank everybody for the reviews. Now, let's dive on into the individual thanks!

Rabid Fan, seeing as you submitted two reviews, I'll address them both at once. Yeah, ones wouldn't normally think ANYTHING could survive such a force, but hey, nothing can enter the barrier around Icecrown, so the Old Gods don't have to survive it, fortunately for them. And yeah, FF.net deletes triples and above for some odd reason. Dunno why. And yes, ShadowedLight's raising of the Dragonblight was totally awesome, I concur. 

Pureauthor, thanks, glad you liked it. Addressing your "you don't care about the true story" statement…well, we do, just not too much. Still I think that it's POSSIBLE the Old Gods could have won, as they were, at their height, gods, and five of them…well, you get the picture. 

Hmm, Darth seems to have re-written his screaming review more politely. Oh well, he's not worth acknowledging in AN's because apparently he's in the 10th grade and still not able to form a coherent sentence…odd, ain't it?

Demon Bright, there's no need to look up more synonyms for awesome, you can just keep telling us it is! Haha. Again, I loved SL's dragonblight scene just as much, if not more so, as the rest of you did. And yes, we intend to develop the rivalry between the trolls and the Nerubians to its fullest extent… (Danger, Will Robinson! Hint dropped! My hooks are flailing wildly!)

Implode, thanks to you as well. But you really should get the blood pressure and epilepsy checked out. We don't want to _accidentally _kill anybody…but Kendrakthos is certainly allowed to die! And, as was speculated before, the penguins were in fact for food. And the Old God who narrates will be revealed, in time…

Rowan Seven, thanks for your insightful review. Your info has been invaluable to us. Thanks for reading and reviewing, buddy. Always glad to hear from you.

Warp Da Warp Liger: Okay, I will answer your comments in numbered form:

1. Yes, the penguins were for food.

2. Indeed, Azeroth does have two moons. Odd that the Night Elves only worship one…

3. The Frost Wyrms at the Dragonblight had been decaying for thousands of years. Malygos had been dead for only a few hours. Therefore, it isn't really an inconsistency.

4. Narath does have quite a bit of power locked away inside him. However, raising Malygos would probably have been easier, as some of his essence still remained since he had only been dead for a few hours, again. Remember Arthas and Sapphiron?

5. Well, the trolls were recruited as a last minute effort, so the Old Gods probably wouldn't have worried too much about the strife between them. However, this will lead to some interesting conflict.

6. Frostmourne now lies dormant after the death of Ner'Zhul. As of right now it has lost its corrupting power. However, I can tell you that it still serves a purpose…

7. The Dragonspawn are not actually descendants of dragons. They're humanoids who over the generations took on a more draconic shape. They still worship the Aspects and guard the most sacred/dangerous places for them. So they are, technically, related to the Dragons.

8. According to Rowan Seven, who has the recently released manual of monsters, the revenants are the Elemental servitors of the Old Gods bound to undead husks.

ShadowedLight: I'd like to answer number 9 for myself. I have several points to make. First of all, that was not a dark arrow. Dark arrow is magic-based, and as you can see, it was venom, not magic, smeared over the arrow. Secondly, even had it been a dark arrow, the ability is still plague-based and so should have the normal power to turn a being undead. In the game it is a dark minion only for balancing purposes. Third of all, not everything in the game should be taken at face-value. And fourth of all, this is a fic. We can do whatever we want. :D

Eternity And A Half: Rand13th, Thanks for continuing to read. You were correct in saying that the Forsaken will soon be involved, and we did in fact base the idea of Malygos' human form on that of Deathwing in DotD. And Malygos would not have allied with Narath under normal circumstances, but the circumstances in the Forgotten Ones are hardly normal, now are they?

Khellendros, gracias for your continued interest. Referring to Malygos as living was a mistake on my part _. And yeah, things are going to get even more tense between the trolls and those bugs the Nerubians….eh hem, sorry, Sil'Kan is my creation while Ra'Anum belongs to ShadowedLight. I tend to gravitate towards my own characters. Ah well. And look, I'm talking! Nice change of pace, ain't it?

Sorry about the lack of evilness, Queen of the Harpies. Thanks, we really loved this chapter too. Then again, we love ALL our chapters! And yes, the Old Gods DID have to call the revenants back. Buwahaahaha! And yes, the Aspects do have the power to take on human form. And he is redeeming himself…slowly. And yes, Necromancers CAN be heroic! In fact, he'll become even MORE heroic. In fact, his heroic-ness will be…sorry, I love the word "heroic". And Narath and Malygos do go well together, methinks. The conflict between the two leaders is growing…mwahaha. I wish I could say I wrote the dragonblight scene, but I didn't. It's so awesome! Everybody tell SL how awesome he is! Yeah, Jennalla's cool, and she's only going to get cooler. W00t! I got the fourth consecutive favorite line award! And no one ever explained to me why you screamed when you realized you were talking to me on AIM…oh well. 

Jeshone. Thanks! And yes, we have considered turning this into a campaign. I can write skills and things, but unfortunately ShadowedLight's brother hijacked his copy of TFT, so he can't help me out. Say, if there's anyone reading who can do terrain, drop us a line. We may just make this. Anywho, the Brewmasters are a little too…how do you say this…offbeat for this story, I think. However, SL plans to write a companion story about what's going on in Pandaria about this time. 

Random-Terror, here's the next part you asked for. We can't help feeling that we evolve with each chapter…by the end, we'll probably push 60 pages, not including author's notes. In case you were wondering, the last chapter was 17 pages, not including author's notes, while this one is 21 not including author's notes. W00t!

Ride4Ruin, yeah, SL comes up with all the great plot twists. Heh. And about the flashback, all will be revealed, in time. And yes, I do have a problem with not finishing what I start. Habit, unfortunately. X_X

Tyrande Stormrage, uh, thanks for reading, and we're glad you like the characters. Well, isn't this awkward. Well, I for one feel bad about flaming your story. Apologies from me, if no one else. 


	7. Intermission

ShadowedLight: Hey guys! We know it's been a long time since we updated, but Eternity has been hassled by Walker and I'm entering a writing contest. Therefore, we don't have much time to work on the new chapter. Sorry but we can't guarantee when the next one will be out, but we'll try our hardest for sometime next week. Anyway, to satiate the masses we've decided to release this special intermission chapter…Authors in Their Natural Environment! This is a real conversation, edited only for clarification. We had this talk shortly after thanksgiving, and it all started with a discussion about Lord of the Rings…

Eternity And A Half: ...now, why, precisely, are we here?

ShadowedLight: Eternity, you're Sam. Go make rabbit stew. Queen of the Harpies, you're Gollum. Now go act suspicious.

Sam: ...lol

ShadowedLight: Meanwhile I'll be Frodo and just sit here and sleep

Gollum: ...I love the fish in the pool

Frodo: zzz

*Eternity And A Half busies self making stew*

Gollum: Okay Sam, we're gonna gang up on the hobbitses...and take the precious. Then WE BE THE MASTER

*Frodo wakes up and sees that the stew's not ready*

Frodo: Faster eternity! FASTERZzzz

*Gollum turns away looking innocent*

Frodo: zzz

Sam: ...um, call me confused, but aren't I a hobbit?

*Frodo wakes up again*

Frodo: WHERE'S MY STEW?

Gollum:...nasty stew...you take all the flavor out of it!

Frodo: Lazy eternity! And yeah, and you do take all the flavor out of it! Bad cook!

Gollum: you can have it with your nasty chiiips *spits on eternity*

Frodo: Yeah! More chips with mine!

Eternity And A Half: Dammit...why am I always stuck being the fat sidekick everyone hates?

Queen of the Harpies: No, we all love you eternity

Frodo: Less talk more stew!

Gollum: Oui...less talk more PRECIOUS

Frodo: ...

Eternity And A Half: Less talk, more beating IMPATIENT PEOPLE OVER THE HEAD WITH COOKING SUPPLIES

Frodo: Care to run that by me again? Don't make me get all hobbit on you!

Gollum: ...Whatcha gonna do? Kick him with your feet?

Sam: lol. Those things HURT

Frodo: No, I'll put on the one ring and EAT ALL OF YOU!

Sam: ...that's the best you can think of?

Frodo: I'll put YOU into a stew! Do you hear??? Tis stew one way or the other!

Sam: Oh, stew this. *beats Frodo with raw fish*

Frodo: Hey! Don't be waving a fish around Gollum!

*Gollum makes a mad dash for THE ring*

Frodo: Gah! That's MY ring!

Gollum: mine! mine!

Frodo: MINE!

Queen Of The Harpies: MINE

*Frodo grabs fish from Eternity...*

Eternity And A Half: sigh...well, seeing as I'm nothing more than a useless plot device, I'll go amble off now.

*...and proceeds to whack eternity with it*

Eternity And A Half: *amble amble amble*

*Frodo kicks eternity with feet*

Eternity And A Half: OW…hey, I have hobbit feet too!

*Eternity And A Half kicks ShadowedLight back*

Lord Maldazzar: Dude, its called deodorant. Tis not expensive

*Smeagol sits back and snickers while eating some raw rabbit*

Queen of the Harpies: LORD MALDAZZAR!

Forgotten One #1: Hey guys!!

Eternity And A Half: ...O.o

Queen of the Harpies: Who are you again?

Forgotten One #2: How about a game of monopoly?

Eternity And A Half: Now you've got me all mixed up

ShadowedLight: No no no, it's simple. You're...Kel'Thuzad right now

Queen of the Harpies: And...I'm also the first female death knight

Lord Maldazzar: Tis not true! Don't believe a word she says!

Forgotten One #4: I call the doggy!

Eternity And A Half: ....this is very bizarre

Forgotten one #5: Eternity, wanna play?

*QotH sighs* 

Queen of the Harpies: Deal me in with the iron

Forgotten One #1: HEY! There Are only 4 forgotten ones, how's there a forgotten one #5???

Eternity And A Half: AAH!! DEATH...I mean, I'll take the shoe

Queen of the Harpies: Somebody just kill him already...if not make him undead

Forgotten One #5: Sure I'll do it

Eternity And A Half: ...eeep.

Queen of the Harpies: God, i'm surrounded by idiots

Forgotten One #2: Hey, Eternity! I got the shoe!

Eternity And A Half: Bleh, we all know I'm gonna die anyway

Lich King: Hey, thats not a bright outlook on life

Forgotten Ones: Wait...WE KILLED YOU!

Lich King: Oh yeah....

*Lich King zips away*

Eternity And A Half: doesn't anyone around here stay dead?

Saddam Hussein: Nope

Medivh: Negative.

Sauron: Nope...hey look, monopoly!

Kel'Thuzad: Hey guys! *puts down a six pack* Did one of you guys say MONOPOLY?

Sauron: I call the shoe!

Eternity And A Half: NO! THE SHOE IS MINE

Queen of the Harpies: I got the iron!

Forgotten One #2: NO! THE SHOE IS MINE!

Eternity And A Half: SHUT UP! I'LL EAT YOUR TENTACLES!

Forgotten One #2: ...what?

Eternity And A Half: You heard me!

ShadowedLight: The One Shoe was forged in the fires of the Parker Brothers mansion....prepare for the WAR OF THE SHOE!

*Queen of the Harpies grabs bowl of popcorn*

Eternity And A Half: o.O

*Gollum eyes shoe* 

Gollum: Hey there, my precious...

Eternity And A Half: oh forget it, I'll take the battleship

Fidel Castro: Jeeze guys, can't we have a normal game around here?

Kel'Thuzad: Castro? Who the heck invited you here?

Fidel Castro: Hey, I do what I want, kapish?

Eternity And A Half: Kapish? Aren't you Cuban?

Fidel Castro: HUSH!

Kel'Thuzad: Oh, well, that was rude! 

*Kel casts death n' decay on Fidel*

Eternity And A Half: too bad D&D is the most useless spell EVER

Kel'Thuzad: Muahahahaha...*sees lord maldazzar* ...Arthas? ARTHAS!??!

*Kel runs over and starts worshipping the maldazzar shrine*

Fidel Castro: Oh yes! And now I use my ultimate! FERAL COMMIES!

*communists run everywhere burning everything*

Forgotten ones: Shouldn't we kill them all?

*QotH is chatting with forgotten one #4* and isn't he soo cute? Just look at him..ow! that hurt you commie!

Eternity And A Half: ...I just work here.

ShadowedLight: *yawn* types on computer and an Archmage appears

Archmage: Eat blizzard foo!

*blizzard employees rain from the sky*

Eternity And A Half: ...did he just say "foo"?

*Kel sees archmage* oh shiznit

Eternity And A Half: Aren't Archmages like 106 year old white guys?

Archmage: Thas rite mah homies! I'm in da house!

Ghost of Arthas: I reiterate...DOESN'T ANYONE STAY DEAD ANYMORE?!?!

Queen Of The Harpies: Oh…arthas!

Blizzard Employees: HI!

Eternity And A Half: You could cut the tension in here with a KNIFE

Queen Of The Harpies: They'll sue for copyright infringement! RUN!!!!

Eternity And A Half: HEY! WHERE'S MY ACT TWO AND THREE?

*gollum succeeds in stealing shoe*

Blizzard Employees: We've got acts 2 and 3 hostage! We wont release them until you give us what we want!

Queen Of The Harpies: Which is what?

Blizzard Employees: North Dakota!

Eternity And A Half: Um, my family more or less owns South Dakota. Is that good enough?

Blizzard Employees: No! We want NORTH Dakota!

Eternity And A Half: But south dakota has...erm...farms!

Blizzard Employees: Dont make us take World of Warcraft away too!

Eternity And A Half: All North Dakota has is...the U.S. nuclear arsenal!

*resounding screams from gathered crowd*

Eternity And A Half: AAH! NOO! NOT MY WORLD OF WARCRAFT!

Blizzard Employees: Yes! And if you want your precious games, you'd better do what we say

Sauron: *buys park place* Haha...foolish mortals...I now own the monopoly board

Eternity And A Half: ...Dammit. Knew we should have kept an eye on him

Forgotten Ones: Damn you sauron and your cheating...all seeing...eye

Blizzard employees: o0o! Monopoly!

Eternity And A Half: Why do you always have a zero in there, anyway?

Blizzard Employees: Give us boardwalk and park place! Or else!

Castro: back off man...too many players anyway

*random commie runs up with fiery torch and throws it at the game*

Random Commie: Muahahaha

*commies still running around, eating stuff and regurgitating it into chitin to restore Castro's armor*

Commies: Buzzzzzzzz

Eternity And A Half: Damn you and your utopian ideas ruined by idiotic leaders!

Kel'Thuzad: Relax guys...*casts misc. frost spell* *great sigh of relief from monopoly players*

Archmage: For all mah homies! *casts mass teleport*

Eternity And A Half: ...that's the Goblin Sapper's line

Homie #1: Hahahaha

Homie #2: Thats rite!

Homie #3: Ahehehe

Homie #4: Inertia is a property of matter

Eternity And A Half: ...thanks, Bill Nye

Homie # Really Pissed Off: Man! Damn Archmages and their mass teleports #@$%*#@!

Queen Of The Harpies: I LOVE BILL NYE!!!

Archmage: Shut yo mouth foo! I'm from da streets!

Eternity And A Half: Bill Nye is the pwn

Queen Of The Harpies: that's "love" with bold...as in I **LOVE** Bill nye…blasphemy, eternity, blasphemy!

Eternity And A Half: Um. What did I blasphemy again?

*Lord Maldazzar comes and repossesses the Maldazzar shrine*

Kel'Thuzad:...Arthas? OH MY KING! I MISSED YOU

Eternity And A Half: ...Ooh god

Lord Maldazzar: NO YOU FOOL! AND STOP THAT! I AM A HOMOPHOBE!

Eternity And A Half: Why do I get the feeling maldazzar is gonna get some skellie lovin?

Lord Maldazzar: I AM MALDAZZAR! YOU SEE??? MALDAZZAR!!!

Queen Of The Harpies: Kel, baby, I like you..but you gotta stop messing with my death knight

Lord Maldazzar: NOT ARTHAS!!! MALDAZZAR!

Kel'Thuzad: DAMN...*goes off to search for Arthas*

Lord Maldazzar: YOUR PAIN SHALL BE LEGENDARY!

*begins playing barney music*

Eternity And A Half: ...that's Arthas' line.

Queen Of The Harpies: *laughs from the monopoly board*

Forgotten Ones: NOT BARNEY! OH IT BURNS! IT BURNS!

*Castro lights HUGE cigar from the forgotten ones burning*

Eternity And A Half: ...wait, what does barney being a dinosaur have to do with anything?

Queen Of The Harpies: Eternity...does anything ever make sense here?

Eternity And A Half: ...mmm. Not really. But tis quite entertaining!

Castro: *takes puff of cigar* Yes, it is

*Gollum picks up one ring*

Eternity And A Half: Oh who cares about the ring anymore

Gollum: HAHAHAHA PRECIOUS PRECIOUS PRECIOUS! GOLLUM THE GREAT!!!

Eternity And A Half: the shoe is where it's at now

Queen Of The Harpies: it's all about the shoe now, dahling…AHHHHHH!!! WHY MUST ETERNITY AND I BE SO CREEPILY ALIKE?!?!

Eternity And A Half: Why is it every time I talk to you, you start screaming?

*Gollum waves hand. Lord Maldazzar appears before him, and gollum has a knife to his throat*

Gollum: Now everyone bow down...TO MEEE!

Queen Of The Harpies: I can't..I'm flying

ShadowedLight: she's always screaming

ShadowedLight: Archmage: Don

Queen Of The Harpies: QotH:....not true

Eternity And A Half: and what's with the random caps?

*tudorrose gives up on QotH and goes to sleep*

Archmage (to gollum): Don't make me b*tch slap yo a*s back to yo momma! 

Eternity And A Half: o.O Okay, the World of Warcraft has no ghettoes, you freak!

Kel'Thuzad: Wait...are you harming...my king??!

Queen Of The Harpies: *casts numerous spellish things at gollum*

Lord Maldazzar: I'M NOT ARTHAS!!!

Queen Of The Harpies: Yeah really Kel...I've been barking up that tree for years

Eternity And A Half: hmm...you know, Arthas' body might still be on Icecrown somewhere...

ShadowedLight: Silly co-author. It melted, remember? The flesh melted.

Queen Of The Harpies: See? That's what I told him *points to ShadowedLight*

Eternity And A Half: Oh yeah. Well, the skeleton is still there somewhere. And perhaps the helmet.

Kel'Thuzad: *perks up* Skeleton?!

*Kel'Thuzad runs off to Icecrown to find Arthas' skeleton*

Eternity And A Half: ...OH GOD, MY VIRGIN EYES!! THE IMAGES!!! THE GOGGLES!!! THEY DO NOTHING!!!

*ShadowedLight puts on blindfold*

ShadowedLight: I'm blind, not deaf.

*Big Guffaw from the QotH corner*

Eternity And A Half: lol

Queen Of The Harpies: Illidan!?!?!

ShadowedLight: No, I'm not Illidan

Queen Of The Harpies: Damn

Eternity And A Half: You're SILLIDAN!

Queen Of The Harpies: Let's not go over that again

Eternity And A Half: lol

Queen Of The Harpies: oh...hold on

Archmage: Now that is just messed up. Noe wut im sayin? That is MESSED, UP!

Queen Of The Harpies: Wait…nevermind

Eternity And A Half: THERE ARE NO GHETTOES IN AZEROTH! GET OVER IT! YOU'RE NOT BLACK!

Archmage: Wut joo talkin about? I'm from da streets!

*Eternity And A Half smacks Archmage with plank*

ShadowedLight: ShadowedLight looks around

Queen Of The Harpies: If there's one thing I know, its fake ghetto...and you're not it

Archmage: Thas rite foo! I'm the real thing!

ShadowedLight: Don't you think that we might be straying into inappropriate territory now?

Queen Of The Harpies: Perhaps...but I mean, we kinda went there with the whole Arthas/Kel thing

*QotH dreams about Arthas*

*Archmage slaps eternity*

Eternity And A Half: *rubs face*...ow.

Random Commie: I'll mace you good!

*slaps eternity again*

*Eternity And A Half hits Archmage with magical plank of smiting and all things fluffy*

*commie walks over and slaps eternity too*

Commie: Haha! Thats fun!

*Archmage slaps eternity…again*

Eternity And A Half: DAMNIT *puts on Lich King helmet* NOW, WE...ARE ONE!

*commie eats the helmet*

Queen Of The Harpies: Oh c'mon Eternity…stick up for yourself

*Forgotten Ones all slap eternity*

Eternity And A Half: grr...

Queen Of The Harpies: Haha, stupid idiots

Eternity And A Half: Goes of into corner and sulks…wait a minute. The Forgotten Ones don't have hands!

Lord Maldazzar: Haha! That looks like fun! *slaps eternity*

Gollum: Yes precious! *slaps eternity*

*Eternity And A Half runs home crying, hides under blanket*

*Blizzard employees cast....Blizzard*

Eternity And A Half: NOO! BLANKEY

*Blizzard Employees all slap eternity*

*Eternity And A Half curls up in fetal position*

Eternity And A Half: Can't sleep...clowns will eat me...can't sleep, clowns will eat me...

Random Priest: What ails you, my son?

Eternity And A Half: I have funny dreams...and im crazy...and I see things…NO, WAIT! I'M NOT CRAZY! AND THOSE DREAMS WERE BROUGHT ON BY SPICY FOODS!

ShadowedLight: Whoops, gotta go. Cya guys.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eternity And A Half: SL had to go at this point. But still, quite an interesting conversation, eh? Hope this makes some people smile. And please, don't kill us for the delay. Please? We'll get back to it as soon as we get a spare moment. Oh, and by the way, the ones involved in this were ShadowedLight, Queen of the Harpies and myself. Just thought you might like to know. Cheers until next time.


	8. Rain of Darkness

Authors' Notes:

ShadowedLight: Guess who's back? Yes, your eyes do not deceive you loyal fans, IT IS A NEW CHAPTER! I guess we owe some explaintions about why it took so long. Well, here they are; firstly I was occupied during the holiday season because my brother came and jacked my internet access. I couldn't get any writing done then, for many reasons, and afterwards I actually had head surgery in which part of my scalp was removed. I just got the stitches out today. Meanwhile, Eternity was doing his own stuff, and by the time we were finally able to coordinate our writing, it was but a few days ago! Anyways, as they say, better late than never. Hope you enjoy this one; I think it's a decent way to return. It makes a lot of references to "Rain", Eternity's oneshot companion to this story, so I suggest you go check that out.

Eternity And A Half: Hi everybody. Sorry for the long delay, but we've had trouble getting things together to write the new chapter. It's a little shorter than the last chapter, but comparatively to other stuff on FF, still quite long. Oh, and there are far, far too many reviewers for us to thank individually, so let me just say thanks to everyone who reviewed, and for making us the number one reviewed WC fic of all time.

***

Chapter VI: Rain of Darkness

Sylvanas and her escort rushed through the forest, the blundering undead humans struggling to keep up. They were as inept in death as they were in life, apparently. As she ran, the Dark Lady reflected on what she had seen. A sea of lifeless, animate beings, more horrible than the undead in that, while they lived, they had no life at all. Such were the beasts that haunted her nightmares. She could find no solitude. Not in death, not in sleep.

Suddenly, a role of thunder was heard, and the dark clouds gathering overhead began to pour forth heavy, woeful drops of water. As they touched her pale skin, Sylvanas shuddered, glancing at a cut on her wrist. Even the rain had come to haunt her.

"Milady?"

Sylvanas' head jerked up, and she glared at the faded figure of the shade before her. Some of the entities had decided to leave Arthas' service, and she had found they were useful tools on occasion, if sometimes annoying.

"What is it now?" She hissed.

"There is an ambush up ahead."

Sylvanas froze. That stunned her. The creatures amassing on the shore couldn't possibly have had enough time to cut them off; their fleshy, lumbering limbs assured that she could hear them miles away.

"That's impossible. There's no way they could've sneaked around us without us knowing."

The shade looked at her calmly. "They are not the mindless creatures that befoul the shore. They are ice trolls."

Sylvanas' face contorted in rage. Ice trolls? Trolls were stealthy enough to achieve such a feat, but they were not native to the Plaugelands. They should be freezing to death in some secluded hut in Northrend, or chewing the bones of their companions in the remote mountains. What were they doing here? And now? It made no sense at all!

"Milady, I doubt somehow that we should walk right into their trap." Varimathras pointed out.

"Of course not." Sylvanas said, coldly calculating again. "But we undead have the advantage of the shadows."

Varimathras nodded, understanding, then turned to face the undead behind him. They were a sizable escort; maybe twenty elite swordsmen, a dozen archers, and an assortment of hungry ghouls. Also, pale and luminous, ten of Sylvanas' most trusted banshees hovered above the ground.

"Hear me now! The enemies of the Dark Lady lie ahead!" Varimathras roared. "You are to scatter into the woods, and hunt them one by one! Leave none alive!"

The undead did not cheer their acknowledgement, but instead quietly slinked into the woods. Sylvanas smirked and turned to her lieutenant.

"The hunt begins. I will meet you back at the undercity."

"Of course, milady." Varimathras agreed, walking off into the shadows himself.

Sylvanas grinned and quietly brushed a wilted bough out of her path. It brought back memories of her days as a ranger, in some twisted, nightmarish way. Rain or no rain, she was going to enjoy this.

***

Kel'Thuzad watched Narath closely. The necromancer sat before him with a small porcelain cup, slowly dipping a teabag into the magically heated water. The chair, which he sat on, and the table, which he rested the cup upon, were both salvaged from the ruins of what was believed to be Baron Perenolde's hall, back in Alterac's glory days. Or at least as much glory as the feeble nation had ever seen. 

Narath looked up from the steaming liquid; it was only then that the Lich actually took notice of the man's features. From the colors of his robes, Kel'thuzad judged that he was a master necromancer before the Lich King's ranks had crumbled. This surprised him; by the look of Narath, he was not half the age Kel'Thuzad had been when he had ascended to mastery. His skin looked as though normally it would have had a full, tan complexion, but many nights of restless sleep seemed to have robbed him of it. He was clean-shaven, apart from a dotting of stubble that had sprung up undoubtedly during his travails from Northrend to Lordaeron. 

What really struck the Lich, however, were Narath's eyes. They were jade-green to the point of glowing, even in the dulled sunset light veiled by the brown canvas of Kel'Thuzad's command tent. A sharp intelligence glittered behind them, as well as wisdom that was rarely present in men of his age.  

"I assume you are wondering why Sapphiron takes orders from me, great Lich?" the necromancer said pensively, looking into what passed for Kel'Thuzad's eyes, "And where I have procured this large flock of Frost Wyrms?"

Kel'Thuzad nodded slowly and wordlessly. 

Narath sighed and rose to his feet, striding to the entrance of the tent, out into the amber air of the approaching night. He brought the tea to his lips and took a long swig. The rustling of leathery wings could be heard from just outside. Without turning to face the Lich, he began his tale.

"As I told you earlier. Our king has been struck down." Kel'Thuzad didn't doubt the truth in his words; after all, he had experienced the psychic backlash himself. "The battle began at the gates of Azjol-Nerub, where I had been stationed as a watchman for many months. The Nerubians had stayed, for the most part, locked beneath the ground, wasting away in the ruins of their own shattered empire. But that one day, everything changed…

"Initially, only Nerubians had ventured forth from the gates. The size of their force was all but laughable; a meager two thousand warriors had assaulted our defenses. My force of ghouls alone was more than twice that size. However, following in their wake were…creatures, and I use the term loosely…of exactly identical build and feature. They were masses of writhing, purple tentacles and blank visages."

"Faceless," Kel'thuzad muttered, his voice whispery. The sunlight streaming in through the tent was beginning to die.

Narath turned. "I beg your pardon, great Lich?"

"Faceless," he said more clearly. "There were writings about them on ancient documents recovered from the short period in which humans lived on Northrend. We thought them only legend."

"Then it is legend that felled our king, Kel'thuzad. The creatures swarmed over my defenses, and we found the Nerubians immune to our attacks. Within minutes my guard post was overrun. More than one million of the creatures had flowed forth from the ruined kingdom, and still more were coming. Our defenders numbered less than three hundred thousand. There was never any hope."

Kel'Thuzad looked carefully at the Necromancer. "What became of the guardians of Icecrown? What of Anub'Arak, of Cho'Nammoth, of Fearoth and Perenolde?" 

"All of them dead, from what I can surmise. I found part of Perenolde's group, necromancer adepts, hidden in the mountains beyond the glacier. They told me he was killed in battle later. I saw Anub'Arak struck down by the impervious Nerubians myself. There was no word from Fearoth or Cho'Nammoth's forces. It was the best we could assume that they had all been killed." 

Kel'Thuzad crossed his skeletal arms. The chains around his wrists clinked against one another. "Most unfortunate. Please, continue." 

"The remnants of Perenolde's forces harbored me. As I was of the most senior rank, probably of all the forces on Northrend, they made me their leader. An Archnecromancer, if you will."

Kel'Thuzad still looked upon Narath blankly. "Continue," he said, his whispery voice devoid of emotion. 

"A mere day and night after I joined in with Perenolde's forces, another battle took place, this time in the skies over Icecrown. The skies were alight with energy, both the ice of the Blue Dragons…and the green of Ner'Zhul's gargoyles."

 "Impossible," Kel'Thuzad said. "The gargoyles serve Ner'Zhul and Ner'Zhul alone. You must have seen incorrectly, Archnecromancer." There was a small bite of sarcasm in the last word.

"Can we be certain, Lich?" Narath asked. "The Scourge has never existed without Ner'Zhul. Who are you to say how they would act without the voice of the Lich King in their minds?"

Kel'Thuzad said nothing. Clearly, Narath's words had given him pause. The Lich sighed, emitting a cloud of bluish smoke from the mouth and nostrils of his skull.

"The Frost Wyrms," Kel'Thuzad said resignedly. "Where did they come from?"

Narath sipped his tea and returned to the table. He set the cup down and crossed his long, spider-like fingers over it. He looked up and stared deeply into Kel'Thuzad's sockets, his jade eyes turned sea green by the blue-gold twilight that had descended while they spoke. 

"To make a very long story short, I have gained an ally that gave me enough power to raise the entire Dragonblight in one spell." 

Kel'Thuzad stared at Narath, dumbfounded. "Impossible. No such power exists in this world. It would have to be stronger than the Frozen Throne itself!'

"The former half of what you said is incorrect. Such a power does exist. However, the latter half is open to debate."

"What ally is it that you claim can grant you such power?" The Lich asked suspiciously.

"Lord Malygos the Spell-Weaver."

Whatever response Kel'Thuzad might have given was pre-empted by a resounding roar of rage and pain. The Lich and the Necromancer simply stared at one another for a moment, but then both dashed from the command tent, out into the makeshift base. All of the living occupants were talking in low, excited whispers, while Kel'Thuzad's ghouls continued mindlessly with their menial tasks and Narath's Frost Wyrms continued standing stock-still amongst the structures. 

A second roar reached their ears, this one so loud and full of rage that it rattled the very bones of the Frost Wyrms. All talking amongst the living ceased. A necromancer, clad in initiate's garb, scurried up to Kel'Thuzad and Narath.

"M-my lords," he sputtered, "S-Sapphiron the Frost Heart has not returned from his s-scouting duties. H-he was due back m-more than twenty minutes ago…"

Narath thanked the young initiate, who seemed eager to be out of view of the two great commanders of the Scourge. The Archnecromancer turned to Kel'Thuzad.

"I no longer feel Sapphiron's presence. Those roars surely came from him, and he is surely dead."

Kel'Thuzad looked into the last rays of the dying sun. "Who was it that struck him down? Was it the Forsaken, or have your foes from Northrend followed us?"

Narath shook his head. "I cannot say. In either case, our enemies are closing in on our position. We must leave." He added, "And leave quickly." 

***

Sil'Kan waited with bated breath. The rain was pounding onto the trees corrupted by the scourge's plague, washing down to the ground completely black. The Gods would clean the taint, he was sure, after they had dealt with the paltry undead. He found that he no longer feared anything save for his God's disapproval, for no matter how mighty the armies of the forsaken may be, the power flowing through his veins was tenfold as powerful. Those who denied the gods had no idea what they were missing.

"Chieftan."

Sil'Kan turned to a smaller troll behind him. "Yesss?"

"The Revenants say ze undead have scattered to the woods. Ze ambush has failed."

Sil'Kan cursed. He had underestimated the forsaken. It would be a lot harder now, fighting in dense woodlands, on unfamiliar terrain, in near-utter darkness against a foe that reveled in all three environments. And yet, even as fear began to form in the dark recessed of his mind, he felt burning confidence surge into him, and suddenly it didn't matter what advantages the enemy had. A smile played around the corners of the troll's gruesome lips. He licked his axe.

"Ze undead want to play, jah? Let's show zem what happens when joo play with ze Gods!"

The younger troll broke out into a similar grin, and ran off to deliver the message. Sil'Kan laughed to himself, and stealthily began treading through the forest, never once wondering why he could suddenly see in the dark.

***

Sylvanas crouched behind a tree. The soft snap of a leaf was all that indicated the troll's presence, but it was all she needed. She had once been the Ranger General of Quel'Thalas, after all, and such things, even in undeath, were second nature to her. Undead eyes seeing perfectly clearly through the rain and the gloom, she peered around the tree to see a pale, shadowed figure with glowing eyes slowly make his way through the foliage. She smiled grimly; the beast was as good as dead.

She got up, and suddenly head a snap. Her head jerked downwards, and she saw a broken twig beneath her. She cursed; what a careless, stupid mistake! But it was too late; the troll had already swung its head in her direction, and aiming oddly well, hurled his axe through the trees. Sylvanas ducked to the ground, and the spear buried itself into a trunk behind her. The troll grimaced and crouched low, scanning the forest floor.

As her adversary looked around, Sylvanas notched another arrow quietly. The troll turned, spotting her too late. The string twanged, and its glowing eyes grew wide as the arrow imbedded itself in its forehead. There was silence for a moment, and then the troll fell over. Sylvanas grinned in satisfaction and walked over to her kill. It was a healthy one, obviously not high-ranking, but strong nonetheless. It would serve its purpose.

For as the dark venom began to take effect, the troll's eyes snapped open, and it slowly got to its feet. Sylvanas pointed off in the direction of the Undercity, and the troll nodded before heading out to kill anything in its way. So much the better; it could probably get away with two or three kills before it was found out and destroyed.

Sylvanas turned back to the matter at hand; at this rate it wouldn't take her much longer to return to the underground confines of the Undercity. There at least, she would be safe.

***

Sil'Kan stalked through the forest, seeing the dark trees in sharp relief. As he did, every fiber of his sinewy body was attentive to his surroundings. His senses all enhanced by some means, he concentrated on little other than the faint padding sounds he heard. As they grew closer, he heard a loud snap and a curse.

"Idiot! Do you want them to hear you?" Said a human voice, strangely twisted into growling tones.

"Fool! If they didn't know we're here already, they do now!" A similar voice replied angrily.

Sil'Kan grinned, drawing an axe out of a pouch at his side. He turned to the large tree besides him, and climbed up it smoothly. After climbing about ten feet, he looked down and could spot two figures moving beneath him. As they moved closer, almost under the tree, he let out a roar and dropped to the ground.

The two undead spun around, thoroughly shaken by the noise. As something huge hit the ground, the first thing one of them realized was that a large axe was suddenly protruding from his head. It turned out to be the last thing he realized.

The other undead, shock draining from his veins, seized his sword and lunged at the huge figure. The being, whatever it was, punched him with unnatural strength, flinging him into a tree trunk. He looked up in terror to see an enormous, muscular figure with a painted, barbaric face approach him, mouth twisted into a fearsome grin. Then something slammed into his head, and he knew no more.

***

Varimathras could only imagine what he looked like to the poor troll; a huge, demonic figure that stalked through the woods with fangs and wings. The creature probably thought him as some sort of voodoo god…or devil.

Of course it no longer mattered what the troll thought, for with a gaping slash across his chest, its life was already pouring forth. Varimathras reflected on how unusually difficult it was for his claws to pierce the skin, then lowered his fangs to the creature's throat. It was certainly not the best blood he'd ever tasted, but it was sustaining nonetheless. As the life flowed into his body, the Dreadlord felt refreshed. The minor injuries the troll had inflicted upon him promptly healed themselves as he felt his muscles flex in anticipation.

Varimathras dropped the pale, drained body to the ground, and looked up again, blood dripping from his lips. He knew that there were likely plenty more enemies in the woods, and judging by the troll's unexpected toughness and strength, he gave Sylvanas a 50/50 chance of survival. It was all the same for him though; if things looked bad for the Dark Lady, he could just flee and be on another continent before anyone missed him.

Sylvanas, to her fairness, had been a decent commander and knew when to reward those who served her properly. He had a respectable post in her hierarchy, second-in-command no less, but one of his greatest survival skills was knowing when to jump ship. He could tell that these enemies were somehow related to those on the shores, and that Lordearon was about to go through another scourging. This naturally brought Sylvanas' future existence into question.

But for now he would play her little game. Turning around to face two banshees with slightly repulsed looks on their face, he wiped the blood from his chin and spoke.

"Ladies, these creatures have stronger wills than I thought. Possess as you can."

The banshees nodded grimly, then floated off deeper into the woods. Varimathras followed quietly, and suddenly the banshees' faces lit up with joy, and the floated literally _through the trees. There was a guttural cry of dismay, and a moment later two trolls walked up to Varimathras, spears slung over their shoulders and a familiar grin on their faces._

***

Sil'Kan had been striding back to the troll's rendezvous point when it happened. The attack had caught him by surprise; the undead he had previously encountered had always been vainly trying to conceal themselves. But this time, the attack came from above. Sil'Kan had glanced upwards just in time to spot the two dark, bestial shapes lunging through the treetops.

And then they were on him. With a shrieking cry, the ghouls had leapt from the trees straight down at him. Sil'Kan's reflexes were all that had saved him, and by flipping backwards he was able to place himself two feet away from the point of impact. The ghouls had hit the ground hard, but were up immediately, claws poised and ready.

Sil'Kan never gave them a chance to strike. Swinging the blunt side of his axe in an arc, he forced one ghoul to duck and slammed the other to the side. Drawing a heated voodoo blade from a scabbard at his side, Sil'Kan had then plunged the knife into the second ghoul's head.

As the first ghoul recovered, Sil'Kan let out a roar of challenge and hurled the axe, neatly chopping off the ghoul's arm. It shrieked, then lunged at him angrily. Sil'Kan dispatched his attacker with ease, severing its rotted head with another axe. But his real target had not shown itself; the Dark Lady had evaded his best efforts.

Snorting angrily, he turned and strode back to the rendezvous point. It was a small clearing that the troll's had cut in the woods themselves. The trees were frail and weakened by the corruption, and they were felled easily with a few blows from an axe. When he got there, however, there were hardly enough trolls to fill the large clearing they had prepared.

"What happened out zhere?" Sil'Kan demanded, spotting the three dozen trolls left out of fifty.

"We be killin them mon." One of the trolls answered. "But ze thougha zan we be thinking."

"Yah, and ze be controlling some of us. Zul'Man was killed by Nor'Zahn."

Other trolls concurred with this, and Sil'Kan growled, looking very angry for a moment. Then something occurred to him and he straightened up, grinning.

"Well zen, ve let ze spiders try."

The other trolls looked surprised at this. Their chieftain's enmity with the Nerubians was now common knowledge. Sil'Kan stared back at them as if they were stupid.

"Joo fools, ve let zem die and fail, and after zat, we finish ze pretty ghost for ze Gods!"

Apparently believing this to be a brilliant ploy, the trolls all roared approval, and immediately a runner was sent to inform the Nerubians of the situation. Meanwhile, Sil'Kan led his people back through the forest to the lake. The Gods would not likely be pleased with the temporal failure, but patience would pay off. That was something Sil'Kan was becoming increasingly aware of.

***

Jennalla's boots made no sound as she tread through the blue-satin night. She had no clear idea of where she was going, or why she was going there, but something compelled her. Her enchanted bow pulsed underneath her fingers, almost in time with her heartbeat. 

_Th__-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump._

Over the maddening sound of her heart she heard the sound of gentle waves lapping against a shore. Knowing this land as she did, she knew she was nowhere near the western coast, so it was probably a lake. Straining to grasp her fading memories, she tried to recall the lake's name. It was like trying to hold water in cupped hands, however; each word slipped out of her mind. She caught the end of its name before it was lost to her. All she knew was that it ended in "amere." 

_Th__-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump. _

Jennalla stopped and raised her fingers to her temples, massaging them frantically with her fingers. Her head always hurt these days; the sound of her heart was like the sound of a whetstone relentlessly grinding away. More than once she wondered if it had finally driven her insane and only madness compelled her to journey these long distances. 

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thu- 

Something rustled in the nearby foliage. Unthinkingly a hand shot to the quiver on Jennalla's shoulder and nocked an arrow. She pulled the bowstring taught, and pointed it at the source of the disturbance.

_Th-thumpth-thumpth-thump__. Her heart beat faster. _

She was about to let the arrow fly when she felt something cold and serrated press against her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

"Well, well, well." A hoarse, throaty voice said from behind her. 

A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders roughly and spun her around; she was shocked to discover the knife that had been against her throat was now pointed at her heart, and the arrow she had been read to loose had been stolen from the bow. 

Standing before her were three men, dressed in the uniform of the Scourge. Judging from the skull helmets that rested atop their pates, they were necromancers. Out of the brush behind them lumbered up a creature of nightmares: a skeletal dragon with leathery, purple skin stretched between its wing-bones. In its eye sockets glittered two stars of sapphire energy. 

A Frost Wyrm. 

"Look what we have here," said the one holding the knife; she recognized his voice as the one who had spoken before. Now she recognized an accent on his tones; to her, it sounded Kul'Tirassian. "An Elf! Here! In Lordaeron!" He smiled darkly. 

"How about we drop the bow, pretty thing?" His companions guffawed loudly. 

_Th-thumpth-thumpth-thump__._

"Come now," the lead necromancer holding the knife said, "It would be a shame to harm one so beautiful as you…" his grin widened, revealing several grimy, black-and-yellow teeth. 

"Go ahead," Jennalla spat. "Kill me. You'd be doing me a favor." The grin shrank from the necromancer's face, replaced with a very sour look indeed.

"Get the rope," he snarled to his companions. "We'll take her to the Archnecromancer. He'll decide what we should do with her." 

_Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump__. Her heart beat at an ever-increasing pace. The maddening sound made her want to reach into her chest and rip the foul organ out. In her distraction, she hadn't noticed the two necromancers, who had until now stayed in the rear, had procured bindings from somewhere and now strode towards her. The first one, whose face was covered in boils, ripped the bow from her hands. The other, who was so old he looked as though he was withering before her eyes, roughly grasped her wrists and bound them together with the rope. He crouched down and did the same to her ankles, yanking on the bindings so that she fell to the ground. All three necromancers guffawed stupidly at her._

Out of the corner of her eye, Jennalla saw the Kul'Tirassian necromancer motion to the Frost Wyrm; it lumbered forward, and with one of its bony talons, picked her up. The necromancers clambered onto its back, and there was a great gust of winds, and the skeletal dragon took to the air. 

As they flew, the sound of the waves grew louder and more distinct; however, she was facing upward, so all she could see was the skull of the Wyrm and the starry sky beyond. If the necromancers were speaking, she couldn't hear them. A lock of her silver hair fluttered in the wind created by the creature's wings.

Quite suddenly, the creature entered into a descending spiral.

They were landing.

***

"What exactly are these trolls demanding?" Ra'Anum asked, outraged.

The Death Revenant gazed back at the seer coolly, eyes glowing an ominous green beneath its helmet. Lightning flashed for a moment as the rain poured down upon them both.

"_They want you to finish the job_."

As it spoke, its voice rattled and hissed, and yet expressed an imperceptible depth that echoed like the shadow of their masters…for that was exactly what they were. Be that as it may, Ra'Anum was not one to be cowed into silence.

"But these creatures have failed!" Ra'Anum spluttered. "Nearly have their number were slaughtered by the group they were supposed to ambush, the queen they meant to kill has escaped, and now they are allowed to rest while my people clean up after them?

The Death Revenant glowered. "_Such is the will of the gods."_

The Nerubian seer calmed himself, and then straightened up.

"So be it. It would be helpful, however, if the trolls could wait outside the entrances to the fortress known as the Undercity. The fleeing forsaken should provide a target that even _they can handle."_

At this the Death Revenant hissed in approval. "_You do not intend to attack from the entrances."_

"No."

"_You have a plan_."

"Indeed."

"_Excellent. Succeed and the gods will be pleased._" The Death Revenant relayed the message as coldly as ever. "_The trolls will be positioned as you request_."

Ra'Anum performed a Nerubian bow. "Give the gods my thanks. I will not fail them like Sil'Kan and his ilk."

"_We shall see_."

And with that cryptic remark, the Death Revenant turned and floated off atop his sphere of deathly energy, leaving Ra'Anum to organize the attack. As he looked around the beach, he grinned inwardly as he counted the Nerubians. They numbered five hundred already, and more were arriving by the minute. Already they set about crafting their chitinous armor while the trolls looked on gleefully. 

Ra'Anum smirked. Apparently they believed that after the losses they had suffered, the Nerubians would fall with equal ease. What they had in brute strength was completely outweighed by their stupidity. But the Nerubians, Ra'Anum knew, were neither weak nor stupid.

"Whatcha going ta do now Anum?" A familiar, hissing voice came from behind the seer.

Ra'Anum spun around, eyes narrowing. "Sil'Kan. Your folks had a pleasant time in the woods I hear?"

Sil'Kan hissed, showing his fangs. "I don care what plan joo have Anum. Jour peoples will be slaughtered. We were outnumbered, but we steel keeled lotsa zem."

Ra'Anum grinned as the cold rain ran down frostmourne. "Ah, but we will kill _all of them. Including the one you allowed to escape."_

"And how you thinking you be doin zat?"

Ra'Anum chuckled; an unsettling sound.

"Ah, these foolish undead have no idea. Their architecture they stole from us, their culture and warriors they took from us, but in the end…" At this Ra'Anum waved a claw back at his people.

"Yes?" Sil'Kan hissed impatiently.

"They live underground." Ra'Anum said quietly. "And that is _our_ turf."

***

Sylvanas dashed nimbly through the ruins of Lordaeron. As she did, her wilted, silvery strands of hair got in her eyes, wet with the rain that kept pouring. She blinked, and the water was gone.

The rain continued to fall. Skeletons of houses passed by her as the ruined castle loomed in the distance. It all seemed somewhat accusatory, but Sylvanas couldn't let it distract her now. Not this time.

The rain continued to fall. Lightning flashed again, illuminating a large building. Sylvanas froze for a moment, and turned to gape at the structure for a moment. The cathedral. She hadn't realized she was so close to it…but then again, she was always close to it.

The rain continued to fall. Sylvanas looked down for a moment, and eyed the cut on her wrist. The place held too many dark memories for her. She hadn't meant to come here. Despite the passage she had ordered to be built, she never meant to go there again. Had she?

The rain continued to fall. Sylvanas gazed up at the unforgiving sky. The rain continued to pour down, bathing her face in a sea of woe. Shaking her head sadly, Sylvanas tried to remind herself that it was no time for self-pity.

The rain continued to fall. Sylvanas crouched, clutching her knees. The place had reminded her about the questions she had. The enemies of the beach. The nightmares. The slaughter in the woods. Who knew who had survived that, and whether she would?

The rain fell. Sylvanas looked down, mind clouded by a thousand doubts. She cursed Arthas, cursed the Litch King that had made her what she was. She cursed everything she'd ever known during life, everything that she had once held dear. She cursed her memory, her indecision, and finally herself. But then, as she did, a strange wind began to blow, swirling around her, upsetting the wet streets. She gazed up in surprise, and the wind subsided.

_Doom._ She heard. _Doom._

For some reason, the words brought her surety. The words were uplifting. This was not a fate she had chosen, but one she would accept. She got up, and ran for the outskirts of the city. There, she would be safe in the Undercity, deep underground where no rain, no enemy could reach…

For she had a duty. And it would be done, all the way to the end.

***

Ra'Anum gazed doubtfully at the wet earth. All around him, Nerubians were already swarming like ants, checking the layout of the land.

"It's more mud than earth." One of the Nerubians concluded.

Ra'Anum nodded. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing; Nerubians were often partial to mud, and a long time buried under several feet of it was quite refreshing. It was softer and easier to plow through, but it would make keeping tunnels open all but impossible, and would pose a problem for organization.

"We won't be able to bring any faceless with us, though I'm sure they will be useful in barricading the exits." The seer observed. "The undead don't sleep, so we won't have that much of an advantage. But if we take them by surprise quickly enough…"

"These fools are not like the scourge." The Nerubian tunneler mused. "They are not prepared at all times. They are hardly infallible."

Ra'Anum nodded. "And their numbers are more limited; if every Nerubian kills three Forsaken, we should be able to nearly wipe them out. But it is their leader that matters. I expect I will have to deal with her myself."

"As you say, lord." The Nerubian nodded respectfully.

"Here's what we do; scatter the forces all over the Royal Crypts. Dig down in irregular, unpredictable patterns. Make them think the tunnels are collapsing upon them, and then finish them all."

The tunneler nodded again, then skittered off to deliver the order. Ra'Anum grinned in satisfaction; the Nerubians that had heard him were already beginning to dig. Turning his attention to the wet sod beneath him, Ra'Anum sunk his claws into the mulch and began plowing it apart in the methodical, precise manner of beetles.

***

Narath looked up and saw a single Frost Wyrm circling above their makeshift encampment. It had been more than an hour since He had given the order to leave Alterac, but the forces were moving slowly. To compensate for it, he had sent his excess necromancers as scouts. Apparently, one of them had found something.

The skeletal dragon swooped down and landed; it bore three necromancers on its back, and it clutched something in one of its claws. It sank down, lowering its head to the ground, simultaneously bowing before the Archnecromancer and allowing its rides to clamber off its back. 

The three necromancers came forward and bowed.

"Most respected Archnecromancer Narath," the lead one said in a heavy Kul'Tiras accent, "During our travails in the forest, we stumbled upon a trespasser."

Narath nodded. "I trust you bound them, and took them prisoner?"

"Just as you commanded, Archnecromancer." He motioned to the Frost Wyrm, which walked over to the group awkwardly on one talon. Opening its opposite claw, the great skeletal dragon laid Jennalla on the ground before Narath. Noticing a scabbard on the Kul'Tirassian necromancer's hip, he nodded.

"Cut her free," he commanded. The lesser wizard drew his knife and in one swift motion, cut the ropes at Jennalla's ankles and wrists. He offered her a hand, but the elf ignored it and clambered to her feet herself. She strode up to Narath unabashed; she feared neither death nor pain, so she held no reservations about how she treated others, even if they were figures of great prominence. 

"So," she said, her voice echoing slightly with undeath, "More of the Lich King's puppets."

Narath shook his head. "There is no more Lich King, ranger. He was slain at the roof of the world. We here are all who remain of the Scourge, and we came to this land of our own volition." 

Jennalla snorted derisively. "Why should I believe you? I hardly find necromancers to be the most trustworthy men of this world."

"Look into my eyes, Elf-Ranger. You will see only the truth there."

Jennalla looked up, and nearly gasped at the shocking green of the man's eyes. She saw her own cool blue pupils reflected there, in the deep emerald pools…

She saw. And she knew. What this "Narath" said was true. She swallowed a knot that had formed suddenly in her throat.

"Why do you not kill me?" she asked shakily. "It is well within your power, and the Scourge is not known to take prisoners."

The ranger swore she could almost see a smile tugging at the corners of the man's lips.

"That was the Scourge of old, My Lady. Those here under my command are the New Scourge, and we would much rather have allies than corpses." He offered her a hand. She took it without hesitation. For some reason, she couldn't help trusting this human.

"Tell me your name," he said softly.

"Jennalla," she replied. "Jennalla Deemspring."

Narath broke into a full smile and brought her hand to his lips. He kissed it and said, "I welcome you, ranger Deemspring." Without breaking their gaze, he said to the lesser wizards, "See that our guest is made comfortable before we break camp."

With that, he let go of the Elf's hand and turned, walking away to tend to other matters.

Jennalla watched his back until he disappeared into the night.

***

Ra'Anum reached the hard tiles that formed the ceiling of the Undercity. Tapping it gently, he confirmed that the tunnels were just beyond the barrier. He backed up a bit, and bringing all his strength to bear, smashed the tiles with his powerful spiked feet. The tiles crumbled for a moment, but held. Ra'Anum let out an echoing roar, and smashed them again.

This time they gave way, and the seer plunged down into the darkness of a crypt. He needed no godly assistance in seeing through the dark, and spotted a half dozen shocked Forsaken eying him. They paused for a second, and Ra'Anum let out another earth-shaking roar.

Fear entered the undead eyes as they saw the massive creature of shadow approach them, two scythe-like arms beckoning. As they turned and fled, his roar seemed to make the caverns shake, and from the ceiling above them emerged more of the creatures. And more. A general panic ensued, followed by a grim slaughter.

By the time the Nerubians had even unleashed their stinging insect minions, their buzzing hum was the only sound left in that part of the Undercity. The Nerubians' clicking sounds of victory joined them, and as more bewildered undead charged into the chambers, they were set upon by solid masses of bugs that tore into their rotted flesh eagerly. As the groups of Nerubians split up to scour the entire Undercity, Ra'Anum walked alone down the passage that he knew lead to the heart of the crypts.

Meanwhile, a patrol of undead had finally come upon a band of Nerubians. Rallying their comrades, they attacked with sword and claw, viciously attempting to break the Nerubian ranks. Even as the bugs bore into their rotted flesh did they hew at exoskeleton, but they did not notice the disturbance above them until it was too late;

All over the Undercity, even more Nerubians were pouring like some sort of nightmarish boogeyman. They set upon the stunned undead viciously, and throughout the city the ominous hum of the insects could be heard…

All throughout the city, except for the throne room. A few loyal guards had attempted to stand in Ra'Anum's way, but a dose of flesh-eating pestilence had dispatched them. And so it was that he came to the large, ominous doors. Sensing the formidable presence within, Ra'Anum backed up, then charged, slamming the doors with all his might.

They burst open violently, for they were unlocked. Ra'Anum gazed around the room, spotting a secret passage in the stone wall that had been opened. A stairwell of stone spiraled up towards the surface, and he could see rainwater trickling freely down it. He nodded understandingly; had it come to this for his kingdom, he would have done the same.

As he gingerly made his way up the winding stairwell, he found it not only continued up but sideways and sometimes diagonally. As he emerged from the passage, he looked around to see what appeared to be a human shrine of sorts. A cathedral, he believed it was called.

"Do you wish for more time?" Ra'Anum asked, his voice echoing throughout the wrecked building as he stepped on a broken piece of stained glass.

"No." A haunting, whispery voice answered as the rain continued to fall.

"You know you will fall here." Ra'Anum stated factually. "You wanted to die in a place of your choosing."

"I did."

"Any last requests?"

"None, save for rest."

"That I can grant."

"Very well then. Shall we begin?"

"I think so."

No sooner had Ra'Anum agreed than had an arrow come flying out of the darkness. Swiping at it with his claw faster than human comprehension, he intercepted the projectile and gazed up into the shadows of the cathedral's balcony. As another arrow came firing at him, he lunged, darting for the support columns of the cathedral. Crashing against one with all his might, he heard a mighty crumbling sound as they entire baloncy collapsed, along with a good portion of the roof. Solemn rain poured upon the combatants as Sylvanas rose from the rubble, eyeing Ra'Anum resignedly.

Ra'Anum flared his wings and outstreached his hand. Swift, hungry carrion insects burst from the air, darting towards the Dark Ranger's flesh. There was a swishing sound, and Ra'Anum turned to eye the insects all neatly pinned to the wall by arrows. 

"You cannot rely on others to fight your battles." Sylvanas said softly.

Ducking to the ground in time to avoid another arrow, Ra'Anum roared, slamming the floor hard enough to make more rubble crumble, distracting the Ranger for a moment. The seer was up in an instant, and lunged, feeling the God's power in his claw. He hacked at the frail figure, flinging her across the cathedral.

Denying her wounds, Sylvanas got up, and suddenly Ra'Anum felt a queer sensation come over him. He looked at himself, spotting, to his horror, a green sort of aura emanating from his body. It condensed into energy, forming a constant stream of light that darted towards the Dark Lady. She shut her eyes for a moment, and the life force poured into her, restoring her wounds as Ra'Anum felt himself grow weaker.

And then, all of a sudden, the connection broke, and Ra'Anum felt himself grow stronger again. The power of the Old Gods surged through his limbs, and as Sylvanas gaped in shock, he lunged at her, swinging his claws in an arc.

Sylvanas was numb, even as the cold rain fell upon her face, even as her bow arm was cut from her body, she felt nothing. Ra'Anum stood over her, and suddenly lightning flashed, and Sylvanas gasped.

For she recognized the blade that she had taken for a horn. The ornament that decorated the seer's helm. It was the runeblade that had taken her life from her. It was the sword that had eternally cursed her. It was the weapon that, in the end, had failed to kill her.

And there it was, illuminated by the lightning, dripping with water that seemed all too much like blood. Ra'Anum nodded understandingly, almost sympathetically…

And then Frostmourne plunged down, sinking into its long anticipated victim. And then, to her utter joy, Sylvanas felt it. She laughed out loud in ecstasy at the pain. And then, she died.


End file.
